


The Past Rewritten, the Future Yet Untold

by Rakharo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Additional relationships will be added if and when they happen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Cousin Incest, Direwolves and dragons - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Jon Snow is Jaehaerys Targaryen, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, No Robert's Rebellion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, R Plus L Equals J, Slow Burn, The real Aegon died before Jon Snow's birth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-11-24 00:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18158780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakharo/pseuds/Rakharo
Summary: Lord Rickard Stark beholds the severly weakened state of the Targaryen Dynasty and draws a different conclusion than Maester Walys would like due to the sudden appearance of direwolves at Winterfell.Taking this as a sign of the Gods of his ancestors, Lord Rickard wants as little to do with the South or their false gods as possible. Rather than create Southron alliances, Lord Stark rebuilds Moat Cailin as Ned's future seat. Without such alliances or the events at Harrenhal, Prince Rhaegar has time to gather a Great Council where he succeeds in overthrowing his mad father. When Prince Aegon dies within a year of birth, Prince Rhaegar needs an heir and marries Lyanna Stark.Years later, a Targaryen Prince rides North to foster with his northern kin...





	1. Moat Cailin

**Jaehaerys**

The cold, heavy mist obscured the Kingsroad ahead of the small group, as they slowly made their way up through the Neck. The silence all around them was eerie and there was not much to see but trees half-buried in the water, clad in fungus, and the narrow Kingsroad ahead of them. The lack of sunshine surely made many of his men wish for heavier cloaks as they shivered in their surcoats. Even Jaime was wrapped tightly in his white Kingsguard cloak. Jae never let heat or cold touch him. He rode comfortably in his fine black leather jerkin and black breeches. A thin braided leather headband held back his long dark curls. _“Blood of ice and fire”_ , his father would say cryptically as he sported a proud smile. His father often said the oddest things.

The horses were clearly ill at ease with the poor sight and Jae had to keep kicking with his feet to make his gray palfrey keep up with Jaime who rode first. In truth, he himself didn’t mind the poor sight as much as the persistent smell of rotten eggs that followed them ever since they entered the swamps. Having grown up in King’s Landing he was used to the smell of the ocean and the flowers that adorned the Red Keep. The training yards, where he spent half his days, smelled of sweat and dirt, but it was part of home. When he ventured out into the city to explore and sometimes greet the people, usually accompanied by Jaime and dozen or so Targaryen guards, he could smell sweet perfumes, spices and freshly baked meat pies and loaves of bread straight from the oven. People always told him that the stench of King’s Landing used to be unbearable during the reign of his mad grandfather Aerys, but he could scarcely imagine it.

As the short column of a dozen well-trained and trusted guards rode on, Jae’s thoughts drifted back to King’s Landing and home. He missed his mother dearly. Father always said Lyanna was as fierce as she was beautiful. Their horseback races outside the city were legendary and he had never managed to win more than one race out of four. He wasn’t oblivious to the talk of the court, and how many frowned and deemed such behavior highly inappropriate for the queen, but even the usually melancholy father indulged them with a warm smile as they returned sweaty and laughing.

Jae missed his father and sisters as well. He was immensely proud to be the son of Rhaegar who enjoyed the love and adoration of both lords and small-folk alike, but wished that he had inherited the Targaryen look. While his features and build mirrored his father’s, his colors were all Stark except for his eyes which had specks of dark purple. He knew that not everyone in court was happy about his northern look, but father never seemed to mind and that was the only thing that really mattered.

His older half-sister Rhaenys looked Dornish like Queen Elia, while his younger sisters Visenya and Shaena looked mostly Targaryen but with the Stark eyes. His dead brother Aegon had looked exactly like father though. With great effort Jae willed his thoughts away. It never did him any good to dwell on the brother he had never met, one whose death was the main reason he himself was alive. And the same was true of his younger sisters. There seemed to be no possible world in which they would have been alive at the same time, like brothers should have.

His thoughts were interrupted when Jaime suddenly lifted his hand and called a halt, his armor looked pure silver in the faint daylight, his lack of a helmet revealed short blond hair and a handsome face sporting a neat beard below his piercing green eyes. The day he had joined the Kingsguard, maids all over the Seven Kingdoms had wept bitterly, or so Jaime always boasted. _The smug bugger,_ he thought amusedly. As Jaime ordered the men about, some to stand guard and others to see to the midday meal, Jae dismounted and stretched his sore legs and back. Jaime caught this and smiled at him cheekily, “And here I thought you took after your half-horse lady mother, my Prince”.

Jae groaned at his, used to Jaime’s irreverence as he was. “Bugger off, Ser Jaime. We’ve ridden for weeks with barely a good night’s sleep to be had”.

Jaime made a mock sad face at this and stepped closer, towering over him as he did, “You’re not going to cry on my shoulder now, squire mine, are you?”

With a curse, Jae struck him hard on the plated shoulder but received only a sore hand and mocking laughter for his efforts.

“I should have you whipped for your insolence, _Ser_ , son of Tywin Lannister or not,” he grumbled while the men who overheard around them just laughed. It always surprised everyone to learn what kind of relationship the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms enjoyed with the Kingsguard who followed him like a shadow wherever he went. But soon they learned to expect the constant irreverent banter and took it in stride. Jaime and Jae only toned it down on official occasions, or in front of the King or the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy. Neither of which were men to be trifled with.

Jae sat down on the muddy ground, pushed his long, brown curls back and mumbled his thanks as one of the guards passed his some bread and cheese. It was good to munch on something while they waited for the kettle on their hastily erected fire to start boiling. They needed to let both men and horses rest for a couple of hours before they continued on their long journey to Moat Cailin. Riding through the mist was frustrating, but with some luck they ought to arrive at midday on the morrow. At Moat Cailin they would rest for a week before Jaime and he continued on to Winterfell while the guards turned back to King’s Landing.

“Whose turn is it to cook?” the burly guard Gawyn asked as he sat down with a heavy grunt. The middle-aged Reachman was dressed in black surcoats like all the guards, with the red three-headed dragon on their chests. As the Targaryens hailed from no Westerosi region themselves, save from the scarcely populated Dragonstone, they drew recruits from all over the seven kingdoms and not just the Crownlands. Well, six, as no Northman Jae was aware of had worn the colors of the Dragons.

“Yours”, Jaime answered him with a smug smile.

“How can it be my turn again? I cooked three days ago!” Gawyn burst out; sounding almost petulant which seemed ill suited for a man his age. “Ser”, he added hastily when he realized who he had spoken to.

“Nevertheless, it’s your turn, my good man.” Jaime said with a tone of finality while he discreetly winked to Jae, who had to turn away to hide a smile of his own. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out what system Jaime had designed to keep track of the cooking duties. Whoever asked first got the honors. When he had pointed it out to Jaime, the man had just laughed and responded that it was one less thing to keep track of. The Gods knew, Jaime had never been one to work hard except for in the practice yards.

Jae ate silently as he turned his thoughts to the next day. The guards were telling stories and exchanging bawdy jokes, but he paid them no mind. He could hardly wait to see his uncle Ned and all his cousins, whom he had yet to meet, especially Robb who was of his own age. No Stark had journeyed south of the Neck since Lyanna’s wedding – the Tullys had been forced to travel north and see their daughter married before the Heart Tree at Moat Cailin – and this was his own first time heading north. Father had decided to have him foster with grandfather Rickard and Uncle Brandon at Winterfell, although he was already a bit old for fostering. Jae knew that as Crown Prince he couldn’t be away from King’s Landing for too long, but it was also important that he got to know the other side of his family. It made him nervous though. _What if they don’t approve of me,_ he worried for the hundredth time.

His mother had always been upset at their lack of visitors from the North. He knew that the Starks had almost closed themselves off entirely during the reign of his grandfather, who was known to most as the Mad King, rebuilding Moat Cailin and seemingly waiting patiently while the _Southrons_ solved their own problems. Father had explained to him how the North had never fully adapted to the yoke of the Iron Throne, even one as feather-light as his own was. The Starks were proud and the Northmen were proud of them. _“The Starks are still the true kings of the North regardless of oaths and titles”_ , his father had told him privately. The Iron Throne had never truly ruled the North. And rarely did the Starks intervene in the politics of the south, but when they did, they didn’t use half-measures. His father had always had a healthy respect for the North; a respect that was all too rare in the south.

Outside of meals, or when Jae was required in court, he didn’t see his father much. The only exceptions were when he found the King observing him on the practice yard, or during their weekly private lessons. While Jae had many tutors, his father never fully relied on them to see to his only son and heir’s education. In these sessions Jae learned whom his father trusted and who was deemed untrustworthy, which seemed to include at least half of the Lords Paramount. He learned what his father thought of the Lannisters, Tyrells and many lesser lords and what motivated them. The more power someone had, it seemed, and the more they felt they were entitled to. _“Just like Aegon the Conqueror”_ , young Jae had once responded enthusiastically. His father’s face had broken out in an astonished smile at that while he mumbled something inaudible.

He also learned recent history, including all the events that led up to father’s own coronation. He learned how father had gathered a Great Council and overthrown grandfather who was locked away in the Red Keep, where he withered away and eventually died under close guard. Father had seemed sad when he spoke of this, like a man full of regrets, which was something Jae didn’t quite understand. Jae had never met grandfather, as he was the Prince of Dragonstone and spent his first years on the island when Aerys passed away, but what he had heard of him had given him nightmares as a young boy. _Father had done what he had to, there’s nothing to regret_ , he decided years ago _._

At any rate, he had learned that the Great Council had been perhaps the last chance to avoid a brewing rebellion that even the Starks might have involved themselves in. It was a strange thought that one side of his family might have raised arms against the other. Through his mother Lyanna, father later learned that Maester Walys had pushed Lord Rickard hard on creating alliances in the south, but with the sudden and unexpected arrival of a pack of direwolves at Winterfell, Rickard’s interests in the south had disappeared quicker than snow on a summer’s day. At this clear sign from the Old Gods, Lord Rickard deemed it best to stay north of the Neck.

Brandon had ended up marrying a lady of the North, while Eddard, as the second son and newly raised Lord of Moat Cailin, had been given a Tully wife after the Iron Throne had secretly conveyed its wishes of tying the Tullys to the Starks. Old Lord Hoster Tully had been upset that his grandson wouldn’t be the future Lord of Winterfell, but Lord Rickard hadn’t budged. _“The Seven have no place in Winterfell for as long as a Stark still breathes”_ , the old man had loudly proclaimed one night in the great hall of Winterfell, according to Jae’s mother. Lord Rickard’s newfound religious fervor had become more than slightly embarrassing to Lyanna and her brothers, from what he could tell from her stories. The Manderlys hadn’t been amused.

Lord Hoster, sensing that suitable matches were slipping away, had agreed to give Catelyn to Uncle Ned instead. At least he would be a lord from a prominent family and the distance from Riverrun made travel less infrequent. _“Men make their plans and the Gods laugh”_ , his mother often told him when they discussed his history lessons. It was an old saying but Jae couldn’t remember from where. As it turned out Uncle Brandon had three daughters and no son, thus the Stark patriarch decided to make Lord Hoster’s grandson Robb the Heir to Winterfell and the North after all, all the while grumbling that Robb looked more like a Tully than a true Stark.

Brandon’s firstborn daughter Lyarra was then betrothed to her cousin Robb to avoid any future feuds over issues of inheritance. _And perhaps to give their future offspring the Stark look_ , he thought to himself. He knew well what it was like to not live up to _those_ expectations and he saw himself likely marrying Princess Daenerys in a few years, partly for the same reason. He didn’t really mind all that much. The Gods knew that Dany was by far the most beautiful maid in the Seven Kingdoms – and likely beyond – but her sweet exterior belied a hidden strength. Of that he was certain.

Brandon’s remaining daughters would undoubtedly be married off to strengthen ties with Stark bannermen across the North. Over thousands of years of shared history there was scarcely a major Northern house that hadn’t at some point gained Stark blood through marriage. This, his father told him, was crucial for any lord who wanted to avoid future strife and discontent. Creating alliances with other Lords Paramount might seem like a good idea on paper, but it might also cause the bannermen to resent their liege lord.

The key was to use marriage to balance the power between the vassals and keep them focused on each other rather than allowing some powerful lords the opportunity to use marriage to pull others with them in a potential uprising. The Starks had certainly not kept their seat of power for thousands of years by marrying Andals. Likewise, a King should be wary of the Lords Paramount marrying their children to each other. There was no clearer sign that they were preparing to play the Game of Thrones.

A tap on his shoulder caught his attention and has he turned around he saw Jaime offering the hilt of a practice sword. “You’re brooding again, my Prince. But there is a better way to spend the remainder of our rest, which will let you loosen up those stiff and sore muscles.”

Jae nodded in acceptance as he grabbed the blunt sword. With a sigh he rose to his feet, unsheathed the sword and followed Jaime a few paces away from the resting guards. “We might as well,” he said as he turned around to face Jaime. “I haven’t seen you walk this stiffly since Prince Oberyn was last seen in King’s Landing”, he smirked. “Remind me, what was the name of that inn he showed you?”

He would have been more proud of his goading if his voice hadn’t betrayed him towards the end, with the last words made him sound a boy again.

 _“Insolent pup!”_ Jaime exclaimed and brought his sword up. Quick as a viper Jae raised his sword to parry Jaime’s fast but mighty slash. This brought a smile to his lips. Getting under Jaime’s skin was far too easy given how Jaime himself always spoke to others. Jae continued parrying as he was forced to back away from Jaime’s relentless strikes, allowing his muscles to warm up a little before he fought back.

Now Jaime was smiling as well. He had once said that nothing made him feel as alive as when he wielded a sword against another man. Jae sensed that there had been a soft _and_ at the end of that sentence, but Jaime never voiced it. _‘Twas probably something crude about women_. Jaime could be crude, but he wasn’t nearly as bad as his brother Tyrion.

Deciding that it was finally time to counterattack, Jae let his eyes signal to the left while he swiftly moved to the right and struck in one seamless movement. Jaime barely got his sword up in time, but gave Jae another proud smile as he parried and countered with a few quick strikes of his own. Hard pressed, Jae was forced back and after a few quick follow-ups by Jaime, who pressed the attack, Jae suddenly saw his sword flying through the air and a moment later he felt Jaime’s sword on his throat.

To no one’s surprise it had ended the way it did, but Jae felt that every time he got a tiny bit closer to finally landing a hit on the smug knight. Jae was incredibly quick, everyone said so, but he neither had the strength, the reach or the experience to truly match grown men. While he always lost in their sparring, he had landed hits on all the Kingsguard save Jaime, Barristan and Arthur. He felt no shame over it. Few knights could have done better.

Jaime lowered his sword and smiled at him. “One of the first lessons a competent master-at-arms will teach you is that the eyes never lie, yet yours did once again and you almost had me. True, I wouldn’t be badly wounded until you put some meat on those twigs you call arms. Still, not bad for a green boy,” he complimented teasingly.

“I guess we should be grateful that you can still beat a _green boy_ of three-and-ten at your ripe old age. You’d be a shit Kingsguard otherwise, don’t you think?” Jae smiled as he went to fetch his sword. Jaime muttered curses at him half-heartedly before they began another bout. At the end Jae hadn’t really been close to beat Jaime, but both were panting and smiling as they finished. The guards had finished cleaning up and it was time to be on their way.

* * *

 

**Eddard**

“Moat Cailin is yours, your Grace,” Ned greeted his nephew with a bow as he beheld the boy in front of him. His gray direwolf, who had remained behind them suddenly approached the prince carefully and gave him a sniff. “I see that _Storm_ was eager to greet you as well,” he added apologetically. _The gods knew it was all but impossible to fully control those beasts_.

The Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister, who stood only a few steps behind and to the side, stiffened behind his young charge, his hand on the hilt of his longsword. Prince Jaehaerys merely watched Storm curiously, betraying no sign of discomfort despite facing a direwolf slightly taller than himself. His nephew finally removed his glove and held out his hand as he slowly began to pet the huge wolf. After a moment _Storm_ seemed to decide that he liked what he found and began to lick the prince’s hand in return. To his credit, Prince Jaehaerys merely smiled in response, making no attempt to stop the wet greetings.

 _By the Gods, he looks just like Lyanna_ , Ned thought, although he was handsome in a way that no Stark man had the right to be. Prince Jaehaerys’ clothes were simple, but looked to be of the highest quality. A black leather jerkin and gloves, as well as black breeches and black riding boots. The rumored nickname _the Black Prince_ appears to not only refer to his coloring.

“I thank you, Lord Stark. It’s a true honor to be amongst my Northern kin”, his nephew replied in a steady voice as Storm wandered off again. “Long have I yearned to put faces to the many stories my mother the Queen has regaled me with since I was but a small child. My mother of course, sends her most heartfelt greetings.”

Ned nodded and turned to introduce his lady wife when he noted how she looked upon the prince with clear approval in her eyes. “Please, let me introduce my lady wife, Catelyn of the Houses Tully and Stark.”

Jaehaerys took his wife’s hand and gracefully brushed his lips over her knuckles. “My lady, it’s a pleasure. Your father and brother send their regards.” He said. “We stayed with them briefly on our journey north,” he added hastily to forestall the question in her eyes. “They were gracious hosts.” He left unsaid why they decided to take such a long detour.

Robb was afforded a more relaxed smile and a nod, while his blushing daughter Sansa received the same greeting as his wife and was complimented for her beauty in a way that made Cat smile proudly. _She undoubtedly wishes for a royal match, although the King would be foolish to suggest or accept such a suggestion from us_. The loyalty of the Starks was already assured through the Queen and the Crown Prince himself.

Bran, Arya and Rickon got their heads ruffled which clearly put them at ease and put smiles on their faces. They had all been beyond excited to meet their royal cousin, but nervous too. Ned admitted to himself that not only they, but he too had been quite nervous. Sansa had spent weeks sewing a new dress for tonight to make an impression on Prince Jaehaerys. If her still blushing cheeks were anything to go by, her cousin had surely succeeded in making an impression on her. _Damn those Valyrian looks_ , he grumbled to himself. _He_ had certainly never got such a reaction from the ladies.

Jaehaerys then proceeded to introduce Ser Jaime. He was forced to admit that Ser Jaime was the very image of knightly gallantry as he gracefully greeted Cat. With his silver-plated armor and chiseled face he made quite the impression. Ned could tell that the children were wide-eyed at the sight of the Kingsguard, and none more so than little Bran who had taken on a look of deepest hero-worship already. Bran had always wanted to be a knight, always asked for stories of famous knights, and he had even spoken of becoming a Kingsguard. But he was much too young yet to realize what he would give up. It made him wonder if Ser Jaime had known… At least he served an honorable king now, unlike his predecessor.

He motioned to Jory, who served as the castellan of Moat Cailin, to find quarters for the royal guards and to have the horses taken care of. He turned back to his nephew, “Come, my Prince, you must be tired and wish to rest and refresh yourselves before the feast tonight.” He received a grateful nod in return and proceeded to lead the way to the keep.

“I’m quite impressed, Uncle Ned – you don’t mind if I call you that, do you? My mother always referred to you as such,” he added hesitantly. “..And please call me Jae, everyone in the family does.” At Ned’s encouraging smile and nod, the prince continued, ”– I was told of course that Moat Cailin had been restored, yet I had expected a small wooden keep, not this grand stone keep.” The question looked like it was honest enough and not just flattering small-talk.

“Oh yes, my lord father decided that we Starks needed a strong and well-manned keep to guard our southern border,” he replied somewhat embarrassed as he remembered exactly how his father had phrased it, _to guard against the Southrons and their false gods_. Lord Rickard Stark had become quite intolerant of everything southern in the past decades. It made them all somewhat uncomfortable, not the least his Cat who always felt weighed, measured and found wanting. All because she was a Tully and followed the Seven. Ned hadn’t even dared to build her a sept at Moat Cailin while his father was still alive, and no septa was hired to teach their daughters despite her wishes. He felt sorry about the first, but not about the second. His children were of the North. Between herself and Maester Lonnel they could learn the basics of the Andal faith as to not remain ignorant.

His nephew raised his eyebrow at that and replied solemnly, “Let’s hope that it’s an unnecessary precaution, uncle. But my tutors always told me that the man who looks to his defenses long before he has anything to worry about is less likely to be taken unawares. Perhaps my lord grandfather is right to prepare, for _Winter is coming_ after all.” Jae finished the Stark words with a small smile, which Ned returned approvingly. The lad had a good head on his shoulders.

They arrived at the chambers set aside the prince, with adjacent chambers for high-ranking servants which were to be Ser Jaime’s during their stay. “I hope you will find these chambers to your liking, nephew,” he said as he showed them the door. “The servants will see to all your needs and the feast is not until the evening. Should you wish to explore, feel free to do so. I know my children would be delighted in showing you around.”

“Thank you, uncle,” said Jae simply with a smile as Ser Jaime positioned himself at the door.

***

The feast was not grand even by northern standards, but the hearths were roaring, spreading comfortable warmth throughout the great hall. There was plenty of delicious food, and lots of ale and wine to wash it down. Ned cut himself a juicy piece of wild boar and turned to face his nephew who was seated on his right, in the place of honor. On Jae’s own right-hand side sat Robb and the two of them were already busy discussing sword-play and the tourneys of the south. He smiled as he saw that. His eldest son was not his own heir, but Brandon’s, and it was promising that the future King got along well with the future Warden of the North.

“And is Ser Arthur truly as good as the rumors say he is?” he heard his son ask.

“Aye,” Jae replied as he put his cup of watered wine down, already seeming to adopt northern speech, “no one can match him, although Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan come the closest. Few things are as awe-inspiring as watching them spar.”

Robb got something wistful in his eyes upon hearing that. “What is it like to grow up with such renowned knights?”

Jae laughed at that. “They are somewhat like uncles, I suppose. At least a few of them such as Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur. And Ser Oswell too, I suppose. I’m closest with Ser Jaime however, as he’s the one most often assigned to guard me, and I squire for him although I am taught by almost all. He’s mostly a fun person to be around and a devil with both sword and lance,” he almost whispered that last part as he simultaneously looked over his shoulder to make sure Ser Jaime hadn’t heard. _Curious_. “Ser Arthur mostly guards father and Ser Lewyn is with Queen Elia, as she spends more time at the Water Gardens in Dorne than at King’s Landing. Her health is sadly not the best,” he added mournfully. Ned had heard from Lyanna that Jae got along well with both Rhaenys and Elia, but it was nice to see confirmation in Jae’s honest regret over Queen Elia’s poor health. Whispers of her frail health had even reached the North.

Robb looked like he was pondering what was said when Bran suddenly interjected himself in the conversation. He had clearly been listening most attentively from his place on Robb’s right, “Will Ser Jaime knight you soon?”

“ _Hah!_ ” Jae exclaimed, “that smug horse’s ass claims that I have to either defeat him in a spar or single handedly slay at least three opponents in a real fight before he even considers knighting me.” Robb laughed at that. He could sense disapproval emanating from his wife to his left, undoubtedly scandalized at the prince’s poor language. Bran looked mostly confused and dejected, clearly wondering if the requirements for knighthood could truly be that difficult.

He felt bad for him and said, “Your cousin spoke in jest, Bran, and should perhaps choose his words better next time given the audience,” he added as he directed a frown at his nephew whose cheeks flushed slightly at the reprimand. “You can be knighted if you perform well at a tourney or in battle, but first you need to squire for a knight and wait until you’re a man grown.”

“But Father, Ser Jaime was knighted when he was five-and-ten, everyone knows that!” Bran said excitedly and loudly enough to cause the aforementioned knight to look up from his seat further away, before he shrugged and went back to his conversation with Jory. “Yes, there are sometimes exceptions, but even the King was seven-and-ten before he was knighted.”

Jae gave an amused look at Bran and asked, “You wish to be a knight then, cousin?” To Jae’s seeming surprise his question caused Bran to look down on his plate and murmured something inaudible. “What was that, cousin?” Jae asked again.

Bran looked like he was close to tears as he replied in a near whisper, “Knights follow the Seven, but grandfather says we are Starks of the North and only hold by the Gods of our ancestors.”

Jae looked somewhat surprised at this, but undeterred he continued, “But aren’t there knights in the North who don’t follow the Seven? Isn’t Ser Rodrik, uncle to your own castellan, a true northern knight despite not being anointed with the seven oils?”

Ned looked at him gratefully, “Aye. The prince is right, son. Any knight can bestow knighthood upon another who deserves it. One day you might be a northern knight and lord of Moat Cailin, serving your older brother as his bannerman and guarding the southern border for him.” This seemed to cheer Bran up a little and the boy of six name days smiled hesitantly, most likely trying to picture himself as first Ser Brandon and then as Lord Stark of Moat Cailin. It was perhaps best to send Bran off to squire for his granduncle, the Blackfish, or perhaps for the Manderlys at White Harbor should they decide it best to keep Bran in the North.

“My lord,” Maester Lonnel’s voice came from behind him, further down the Great Hall. “My lord, there was a raven from Winterfell.” The middle-aged Maester, wearing his usual gray wool robe, came up to them looking flustered as he held a small scroll with the Direwolf seal on.

Ned took the scroll from his hand with a nod of thanks and broke the seal carefully. He hoped for good news, but as always felt some trepidation when he received a scroll from Winterfell. His lord father wasn’t well and Maester Luwin had said that he didn’t expect Lord Rickard to survive until his next name day.

He read the words carefully and breathed a sigh of relief. As he looked up he saw all the expectant eyes on him, some showing signs of worry akin to his own. “All is well.” He said. “My brother Brandon writes that _Winter_ has whelped a large litter of pups. Nine of them; four males and five females. He says our lord Father has decided that each Stark child – and Jae too if he so wishes – is to receive a pup of their own and he bids us all to ride to Winterfell with Prince Jaehaerys. Lord Stark says it is another clear sign that the Gods favor our family.” He words were met by stunned silence.

The children all looked beyond excited at the news, but Cat had taken on a look of immense worry. “Surely the children are too young, my lord?” She pleaded.

He frowned at that. He loved his wife dearly, but those were the words of a Southron woman. “My lady, the children will have to grow up fast, for winter is coming.”


	2. Moat Cailin II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pleased to see that people enjoyed my first chapter.

**Jaehaerys**

In the morning after their arrival at Moat Cailin, Jae awoke after another dream of cold, dark winter. In his dreams snow covered the ground, the cold was biting, his breath clearly visible. He was older, with a short itchy beard on his skin. Distant wolves all around him were answering the howling wind, as if to give it lessons. But rather than frighten him, he found comfort in the howling of the wolves.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he rose slowly. It had been marvelous to sleep in a proper featherbed again, to be embedded deep under warm furs. If only his recurring dreams of the darkest winter would leave him be. After relieving himself in the chamber pot, he washed up to rid himself of the last vestige of sleep. Once dressed he stepped outside and found that while the family wing was quiet, he could hear the faint sounds of early activities in the Keep.

The cooks and kitchen aids were likely awake already to bake and prepare the morning meal. He nodded at the two Stark guards who were stationed outside his door; they must have replaced Jaime sometime during the night to allow him some sleep. Jae knew well enough not to expect Jaime for at least few good hours. However, that didn’t mean that he could shirk his duties as a squire, prince of the realm or not.

He strode along the corridors of the newly erected Keep, walked the stairs down and eventually made it to the front doors. Jae nodded to the sleepy-looking guards who bowed awkwardly before they hurriedly opened the doors for him. While he was certainly used to displays of deference, the guards were clearly not used to royalty in their midst.

As he reached the courtyard he beheld the magnificent towers, most of which were recently rebuilt. Out of twenty massive towers, only the three southernmost towers had withstood the passage of time. There they had plugged the causeway like a cork in a bottle for thousands of years. Jae made his way to the stables and noted that not even the stable boy was awake yet. He started to groom Jaime’s brown courser who was nudging him softly as if begging for a treat.

Jaime had left his splendid black destrier at King’s Landing. He had ridden it proudly when he had unhorsed Ser Barristan in the final tilt of the tourney last year, to the adoration of the crowds. He had proceeded to crown his twin sister the Queen of Love and Beauty, the seemingly perpetually sour Lady Lefford of the Golden Tooth, but even that hadn’t seemed to bring a smile to her face.

Nevertheless, mother had told him in no uncertain terms that bringing the destrier north was a bad idea. Or more specifically, she had claimed _“it was an idea so astonishingly stupid that only Jaime could have come up with it”_ , he remembered amusedly. In the end Jaime had had no choice but to take her _advice_ and procure a more suitable horse, bruised ego or not. Everyone knew that Queen Lyanna knew her horses and she obviously knew the North. And most people at court had become familiar by now with her sharp tongue.

Once done with Jaime’s horse, he proceeded to take care of his own gray palfrey. The mare was complaisant as always, but must be getting on in age given the lack of energy it displayed. _It probably explains why I had to force it to keep up with the pace Jaime set_ , he grumbled softly. Maybe mother had given it to him as a test, or perhaps even a joke. It wouldn’t be unlike her. Mother was … mother. He was quite keen on seeing the lands that had shaped his lady mother into a woman so unlike any other that he had ever met. But thus far, only cousin Arya reminded him of her.

After he finished grooming the horses he went back inside to work on Jaime’s armor and sword. Every speck of rust or dirt was to be removed until it was spot-free. Jaime would know as he inspected his equipment carefully every morning. It took another hour and once he was done Jae was quite famished. Hearing the sounds of a stronghold well and truly awake, he made his way to a private family dining room his uncle had shown him the day before.

As he entered the warm room, servants were already busy bringing trays of bacon dripping with fat and freshly baked coarse bread to the table where his uncle and cousins were already seated. His uncle nodded to him in greeting and said, “I hope you slept well, my prince. I suggest that we shall remain here for another day to allow you some rest before we ride for Winterfell. If it pleases you, of course, I know you had intended to stay for longer,” he added.

Jae nodded in reply. “That was when I thought we would ride on to Winterfell alone with Ser Jaime, Lord Stark,” he explained. “Even then, a week seemed a minimum for a visit with kin. Although I’ll gladly take a day out of the saddle,” he said with a grimace that made Arya giggle. Well, she was only seven. He sat down and took a plate and began to pile up the bacon.

Robb sat next to him and whispered conspiratorially, “Will you show us today what years of training under the Kingsguard can do, cousin?” While Robb sounded playful, there was a subtle hint of a challenge in his words. Clearly he didn’t wish to be thoroughly outfought by his royal cousin, although he probably expected to lose their spars. Jae would have to strike a careful balance there, as he needed the respect of his kin but didn’t think that humiliating the heir to Winterfell would endear him to them.

He caught himself as he recognized the prideful assumption that he was even capable of such a feat and wasn’t simply underestimating his cousin. Hubris was hardly a trait he wished to cultivate, hard as it was to avoid given his royal title and heritage. “Aye, but mother always spoke proudly of northern warriors, saying it took ten Southrons to equal even one Northman. Perhaps I shall be the one taught a lesson,” he finally said, trying to sound humble yet surely not convincing anybody. Humility, after all, did not come easily to dragons.

On second thought, the unmistakable pride and excitement in Bran’s eyes at his words – and oddly enough in Arya’s as well – bore witness to his hitherto unrecognized skills of persuasion. At least children fell for it. _The Spider would be proud_ , he thought with a self-mocking smile.

“And we must train with the lance,” Robb said still smiling broadly, seeming very excited at the thought. It seemed that smiling came easily to his auburn-haired cousin, something that likely wasn’t going to hurt him with the ladies when he was fully grown.

“Aye, that we do, but I find that the sword holds a lot more interest for me than the lance,” he shrugged. It was the truth, but he had still been drilled endlessly with the lance. _“To defend the family honor”_ , his father had replied when he asked what the bloody use was. In other words, _for keeping up appearances of martial prowess_ , he thought sourly.

***

An hour later the sun had well and truly risen in the sky as Robb and Jae faced off in the sparring grounds with blunted longswords, wooden shields, halfhelms and padded armor. His uncle had joined a growing number of spectators such that Jae was very conscious of his performance. After a few tentative feelers he had decided that Robb was no slouch, but didn’t hold a candle to Ser Jaime. Well, neither did Jae, but there was still a marked difference between them.

He focused on his footwork as he circled around Robb, looking for weaknesses in his cousin’s defenses. Robb held himself well, leaving few openings, but at times he would overextend himself if Jae’s movements became too fast. Jae deliberatively failed to take advantage several times, hoping that no one noticed.

They battled back and forth; swinging high and low, parrying and thrusting, coming in close and stepping out of reach, alternating offense and defense. Robb had greater strength, but Jae was faster. Fast enough to quickly sidestep Robb’s strikes and pound on a quickly raised shield and retreat away from Robb’s attempts to counter. Neither had landed a true hit on the other, but Jae saw the moment approach when he could end this without his cousin losing face.

After a few more rounds back and forth, Jae feinted left and quickly dove right and came up on one knee as he quickly struck out in a wide half-circle behind him. His sword hit Robb’s back hard, who hadn’t managed to turn in time to shield, and with a muffled cry his cousin fell before him. Jae quickly removed his helm and rushed over to his fallen opponent, but breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Robb’s curses, “What the hell was that?”

He laughed softly in reply, “The first time I saw that move, Ser Arthur used it on Ser Arys Oakheart, to similar effect I might add. It’s an unexpected move that is probably difficult to pull off more than once against someone, but I thought it unlikely you would see it coming.”

Robb got back on his feet and smiled sheepishly, “I will definitely watch for it next time, cousin.”

“It was a good spar, Robb. You’re stronger and might have worn me out. I was glad to have a trick up my sleeve,” Jae said loud enough for his voice to carry, while still seeming to speak to Robb only. The onlookers began to cheer and clap politely and Jae felt that he had accomplished his goal. As the crowds began to disperse, Jae noticed that Jaime had joined them. “Look, here comes our tutor for the day,” he told Robb as he nodded towards the Kingsguard.

Robb who was already winded muttered another curse, but wore a determined expression on his face. Jae met Jaime’s eyes quickly and gave him a subtle nod as an understanding seemed to pass between them. Jaime offered a small smile in return, and looked almost proud. _Strange man_.

When hours later Jaime finally decided they had enough of speed and balance drills, thrusts, lunges, strikes and parries until they could barely lift their arms, both Robb and Jae sank down on their knees, trying to catch their breaths. He had lost count on how often either he or Robb had puked, but found some comfort in the thought that their common experience, _nay torture_ , would only serve to forge a bond between them.

“He’s always been a sadistic arse,” Jae muttered between painfully drawn breaths. For some reason Robb found it incredibly funny and soon they were both laughing so much it hurt even more.

* * *

**Robb**

After hours of sparring and brutal drills under Ser Jaime, Robb had a newfound respect for his royal cousin. At first he hadn’t thought that the prince looked like much of a warrior, with his lean frame and delicate features, but he had quickly been disabused of that idea. Jae was so fast it was hard to even follow his movements at times, much less to counter on time. Either his cousin had been cautious, not knowing what Robb could do, or he had more likely held himself back in their initial spar.

If the latter, he had plenty of reason to be grateful as he wouldn’t want to be made a fool of in front of father and his men. For if the was one thing Robb was sure of, it was that training under a Kingsguard was no laughing matter. He had never been as physically drained in his entire life and all he wanted was to lie down in bed until it was time to leave on the morrow.

As it was, the two of them lay side by side on the dirty training grounds with their eyes closed. “The midday meal should be soon,” he told his cousin but received only an indecipherable grunt as acknowledgement he had been heard. “Mother will be upset if we don’t wash before,” he added, but made no attempt to get up.

He pitied Jae who probably had to go through such drills with some regularity. Robb had been determined not to be the first to falter, but right now he wasn’t sure if his pride was truly worth it. Still, he was the Heir to Winterfell and had to meet not only his father’s expectations, but also those of his uncle and lord grandfather. Looking like a Tully and being named after the Lord of Storm’s End had forced Robb to try even harder to gain their approval. _“House Redstark of Moat Cailin”_ as Uncle Brandon jokingly referred to them whenever they met, despite father’s many attempts to explain what a poor jest that was.

He finally gathered whatever strength was left in his body and got up, first to sit and then after a moment’s pause rose up on wobbly legs. Jae gave no sign that he intended to follow. He walked over to his cousin and grabbed him by the forearm. “Shall I tell Ser Jaime that his squire has given up on knighthood?” he teased.

“You’re a cruel, unwashed northern barbarian, cousin. I think we shall not get along at all,” Jae let out with a grunt, but took Robb’s offered arm and allowed himself to be dragged to his feet.

Robb smiled at him but raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Is that what they call us down south?”

“Certainly not where my mother the Queen can hear them, if they value their hides,” Jae smirked evilly. “But yes, some do think like that. _Worshippers of trees_ , they say.”

Robb gave him an astonished look. “They think we worship the _trees_?” _Did they not realize that the weirwood trees are merely the means for the Gods to gaze upon the world? It must be because the Gods are blind down south and the Southrons cannot sense their presence._

“Most Southrons have never set foot in the North, and many have never even met northerners. They speak of what they don’t know,” said Jae.

Robb looked at him thoughtfully before he smiled, “In that case we must call the banners and ride south to educate the little Southron runts, as grandfather would say.”

This earned him a laugh from his cousin. “Can I tell you a secret, Robb?” Jae asked softly. Upon his nod Jae continued, “I’m most wary of meeting Lord Stark. Whenever I try to picture him I think of the Kings of Winter of old, with a face frozen in disapproval; cold eyes giving his enemies frostbite with a mere look.”

He found that he could relate to that, but trying to picture it was also quite amusing. Eventually he managed to reassure his cousin, “Oh not at all, Jae. Grandfather might be fearsome when he adorns the stern face of the Lord Stark. I’ve seen his bannermen go soft at the knees when he gazes upon them. Even the Lords Bolton and Umber cower before him. But fear not, our grandfather’s good man. He will approve of you, and you will like him. Don’t you worry.”

Jae gave him a grateful nod. He seemed to shrug it off and his smile returned. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get ready for the midday meal. I feel like a starved beast, and you have the looks of one,” Jae teased.

***

After the midday meal was over, Robb was called into his father’s solar. The room was covered in books and all manners of parchment. Some were neatly piled, stacks held down by simple rocks, on the sole large desk at the furthermost corner of the room. Others were rolled up as scrolls, neatly gathered in a basket that hung from the wall next to father’s chair. On the table Robb saw the Stark sigil in the shape of a direwolf, that father used to seal important messages, next to a red wax candle. _Storm_ lay slumbering on a large bear skin at the center of the room.

As Robb entered the room, father looked up and greeted him with a smile. “Take a seat, lad,” he bid him.

“Son, you made me proud today.” Father leaned back in his chair; the familiar gray eyes seemed to study him for a moment. “You held yourself well against Prince Jaehaerys, despite his Kingsguard training. It was a bold and unexpected move he carried out towards the end. And I heard that Ser Jaime was exceedingly hard on you both, yet you did not complain or falter.”

Robb’s cheeks reddened slightly at the unexpected praise. “Thank you, Father.”

“Your mother and I have spoken,” father continued thoughtfully. “It has been decided that you remain at Winterfell when the rest of us return here. We expect you to make us proud as you carry out your duties as Brandon’s heir.”

Robb felt somewhat confused at this. “I know I was always meant to go and learn at Winterfell eventually, Father. How come you have decided I shall go already?”

“Ah, that is answered easily enough.” Father tapped lightly with his fingers on his desk. “You seem to have developed a bond of friendship with the prince, even in such a short time. We are most pleased and wish to give you the opportunity to continue to train together, as well as attend the same lessons with Maester Luwin and Lord Stark. Nothing but good can come of being close to our future king.” He paused for a moment. “We just thought it wrong to hold you back here when you could have a friend your own age. Besides, it would give you the opportunity to better know Lyarra and I’m sure you wouldn’t mind that,” father finished with a small wink.

Robb blushed slightly at the mention of his betrothed. She was rather pretty, looking like a young version of her mother as she did, but with Uncle Brandon’s colors. They had played together as children on their occasional visits, and it was only recently when Robb had been named heir and their betrothal was announced that he had begun to take notice of her as a young woman.

Father must have seen how his thoughts drifted, for he added in a stern voice, “I trust that you will treat her honorably, son.”

Robb blushed furiously and could only nod at his lord father, unable to meet his eyes. _I will._

* * *

**Eddard**

Ned watched his son take his leave, still slightly red from the earlier embarrassment. He chuckled softly to himself, _oh to be young again_.

He was in fact more than pleased with Robb. He had always known that his son was an easy-going lad, well-liked by everyone and eager to please. He was in many ways an heir any father could be proud of, and he knew with absolute certainty that his Lord Father fully approved, despite his mutterings about Tully hair and eyes. Lord Rickard didn’t truly mean anything by it, but age seemed to have lessened the constraints on his tongue.

With a deep sigh Ned rubbed his tired eyes and turned back to the many parchments in front of him. There were still letters to be sent before their departure on the morrow, not the least a first report to the King about his son’s arrival and health. When he fostered at the Eyrie as a boy, he had been forced to listen to Robert’s many and varied insults of the royal family. While he had found them inappropriate, and even dangerous, he knew Robert well and understood his bitterness at the loss of his parents on the King’s bidding. And now Ned found himself with royal kin.

When he first heard the news that Rhaegar, as Prince-Regent, had asked for Lyanna’s hand in marriage and that his lord father had acquiesced, he had almost choked on his ale. Ned recalled trying to broker a match between his sister and Robert, only to have his suggestion be summarily dismissed by his lord father. _“A wolf should certainly not be handed over to an undignified Andal who worships crones, smiths, maidens and strangers, out of all things”._ He had hid that particular message well from both Lord Arryn and Robert.

Ned wondered if worshipping _Fathers, mothers_ and _warriors_ was deemed slightly more acceptable, and never mind that the Targaryens held to the same faith as the Baratheons, but he didn’t dare to speak his mind. _You don’t refuse the Iron Throne_. He supposed it really was as simple as that.

* * *

**Jaime**

Early next morning Jaime took up his post just behind Prince Jaehaerys as the long column of riders began to make its way out of the keep. Moat Cailin had certainly been a surprise. He barely comprehended the sheer size of this northern stronghold. Jaime had no doubt that even a small force, if determined, could hold off many times its number indefinitely. Without the ability to surround the Keep and cut off its supplies, a siege would be completely useless.

 _Small wonder the North was never truly threatened until the arrival of the dragons_ , he mused as he prodded his courser slightly with his knees. He had to admit to himself that he had been curious at this journey. While his sweet sister had raged at the indignity and perceived slight of being sent to the barbarian north for such a long time, Jaime found that he did not mind it at all. King’s Landing was suffocating at times. Too many falsehoods; too much intrigue. Unlike the rest of his family he had no head for it.

Jaime fully expected to be able to see the vast expanses of the North, perhaps even ascend the Wall and go beyond it. Although the King would probably have his hide if he even thought of bringing the prince beyond the Wall. _“I trust you with the future of this Realm, Ser Jaime,”_ the King had told him solemnly. Jaime did not intend to disappoint the King. It was bad enough that he was a constant disappointment to his own lord father.

As they rode on, Jaime was glad to leave the last smell of the swamps behind him. It didn’t smell as badly at the Moat, but it smelled enough to remind him of having had to endure the long ride through the Neck. He had to remember to take a ship when the eventually returned south.

He beheld the column of Stark men-at-arms and servants in their procession. These were hardy folks. Dressed simply in their wool and leather garments. Lord Eddard and his son Robb wore large wolf pelts over their shoulders, similar to the one that Prince Jae had been gifted upon departure. Jaime eyed the warmly clad men jealously. But he supposed he could acquire one easily enough if he wanted. He tried to picture himself wearing one as his father and sister greeted him. The image made him burst out in laughter.

“Something amuses you, Ser Jaime?” the prince asked.

Struggling to contain his mirth, Jaime merely shook his head before adding, “No, my prince, not really. Just a silly thought that struck me.”

The prince seemed relaxed here among his northern kin in a way that Jaime rarely saw in King’s Landing. He had taken to them immediately and had already started to speak like them, although thankfully without the heavy northern accent. It would be just his luck to return home in a few years with a Crown Prince who spoke like a true northerner. He shuddered at the thought.

He estimated that they had more than a hundred leagues to ride, which should take them between two and three weeks, depending on the pace that Lord Eddard set. Jaime was surprised to see that they had no wheelhouse for the ladies, not even for Lady Catelyn who was born a Tully. Cersei would certainly have demanded one to be spared the indignity of prolonged horseback riding. But Jaime found that he respected them for it. It spoke of capability.

“So Ser Jaime, what do you make of the northern kingdom?” Jae asked him as he pulled back slightly to make for a more comfortable conversation.

Jaime wasn’t quite sure how to best answer. He had never been a diplomat, but offending the prince’s kin was probably not the best idea. “It’s vast, empty and quiet, my prince,” he finally said.

“From you that was almost poetic,” Jae laughed. “And its people?”

“I don’t know... Stoic, hardy, plain.”

“Plain are they, Ser Jaime?” There was a dangerous glint in the prince’s eyes.

“Aye,” Jaime said in an exaggerated manner. “It’s difficult to focus on the fineries in life when you live at the very edge of civilization, braving the elements at every turn. No wonder the Stark words are so… prosaic,” he continued cheekily, having ignored his earlier resolve to avoid causing offense.

Jae gave him a dark look, not looking pleased at all. “Tell me, my friend, did the Lannisters start saying _a Lannister always pays his debt_ before or after the arrival of dragons making the lion’s roar seem somewhat… shall we say, _pitiful_?”

Jaime chuckled in response to that. “That’s a somewhat acceptable attempt, my prince. But let me give you a word of advice. A good insult cannot be forced like that. You have to let it flow naturally. Trust me on this.”

The prince looked like he wanted to retort, but seemed to think better of it. After a few moments he harrumphed, “I suppose I shall have to take your word for it.” And with that Jae kicked his horse and rode up to young Robb’s side. _Not everyone understands me_ , Jaime lamented before he laughed again and continued to inspect their surroundings. They had a long way to go before they reached Winterfell.


	3. King's Landing and Winterfell

**Daenerys**

It was far too early in the morning when the chambermaids opened the sturdy oak door to Dany’s chambers. She barely paid attention as they quickly went about their duties, seemingly without a care for her desire to sleep some more. One of the most pitiless maids, a portly middle-aged woman with wrinkles under her eyes and a heavy brown braid that hung all the way to her lower back, opened the curtains to let the sun shine in on the poor princess in all its infernal glory.

 _What a dreadful manner to be woken_ , was Dany’s first coherent thought. Her second thought was to send for Ser Oswell to protect her from the chambermaids. As usual she did not act upon that thought.

The truth was that Dany lacked all desire or interest to find out what the day might bring. If the day turned out to be similar to the previous day, she’d rather just stay in her chambers. Yesterday had begun with an exciting double-session with Septa Jolenta. She told the most _riveting_ stories of the Faith and the duties of devout ladies. The very thought made her groan.

After the midday meal, she had been fortunate enough to spend the next few hours practicing her needlework. As she repeatedly stabbed her fingers with the sharp needle, the ladies had entertained her with the latest gossip. She was glad to have caught up with such important events such as what knight had been particularly charming, as well as the identity of the fortunate lady who had been the object of said charm. _Fascinating_.

Maybe today would be equally eventful. She buried her face in the soft feather pillow. _Someone just kill me now_. Well, she didn’t quite mean that. Not really. It would be a tragic tale of the dull life of a royal princess, a footnote in the long Targaryen history. But it couldn’t always be like this. _Surely_ it could not.

“Your Grace,” one of the maids addressed her demurely, “the King has requested your presence at the morning meal. Please, princess, we cannot let the King wait.”

At that Dany forced her eyes wide open. It was rare that her brother had time for her. He was always busy seeing to the needs of the realm. Often much too busy for his little sister. She stepped out of bed and pulled her nightgown over her head and threw it on the floor. There was no time for a hot bath, but her maids had already seen to filling up a small stone basin with hot water to help her freshen herself.

A screen had been set up to allow her some privacy from any who might have entered her room while she was exposed. Not that nudity bothered her, to her Septa’s chagrin. Just yesteryear Dany had almost given her Septa a heart attack as she had run screaming around the royal apartments without a stitch on her body as she gave chase to her youngest niece Shaena who had poured a bucket of ice cold water over her as she enjoyed a nice hot bath. Poor Barristan had not known where to keep his eyes as he had tried to respond to what he imagined must surely have been a threat to the royal family.

 _Maybe that was what I must do again to finally rid myself of the evil Septa_. She immediately tried to regret her unkind thought, but didn’t fully succeed. Dany mostly regretted her inability to truly regret her evil thoughts. She was truly awful.

The maids had already picked a dress for her and they helped her put it on. Her brother Viserys had gifted it to her after a recent trip to Lys. _“Feel the fabric”_ he said as he held it up for her with one hand while caressing it with his other hand. _“Touch it with your fingers. Feel how soft it is.”_ It was soft indeed, very soft. But it did sound like Viserys had wanted to wear it himself if he could get away with it. The thought made her giggle. Her brother had become a fair knight, but the Prince of Summerhall had a surprisingly soft side to him, just like Rhaegar.

The maids finished buttoning the dress and started brushing her long silvery hair before they fastened a couple of simple hair ornaments to keep her hair away from her eyes. Dany inspected the results critically in a mirror before she determined she looked presentable. She hadn’t always concerned herself over how she looked, but recently that had started to seem oddly important. Even for a family meal.

Luckily she didn’t have to walk far. Her brother Rhaegar took his morning meal in a room adjacent to his own chambers, with a spectacular view of the city and Blackwater Bay. Sometimes she liked to sit there and just watch the comings and goings of the multitude of ships that entered the harbor. She would pretend that one of those ships had come to take her on a journey to Braavos or Pentos. Perhaps even to Lys, as she’d like to know why Viserys and her good-brother Prince Oberyn so often spoke of returning to that small island.

Ser Barristan Selmy bowed respectfully as she approached her brother the King’s dining room. “Good morning, Ser Barristan,” she greeted him with a genuine smile. Dany had never known her own father, but sometimes she pretended that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was her real father, regardless of how utterly inappropriate such thoughts were. He always treated her with such respect and always had a special smile just for her.

“Good morning, my princess,” he answered her and held up the door for her. “You can walk right in, His Grace awaits you.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside and saw that not only was her brother Rhaegar there, but Viserys and mother too. While Rhaenys was in Dorne, she had expected Lyanna and her nieces to be present, but they weren’t. After greeting them, she asked why.

Rhaegar was the one to answer her as he looked up from his plate of cheese, meat and fruit. Bread rarely agreed with him, he claimed. “Sweetest sister, Lya is breaking her fast with her ladies and she decided to have our daughters join her.” He looked tired and worn; doubtless he had labored at his desk late into the night again. As usual the King wore his house colors. His coat was almost all black, but with red details.

Her mother Rhaella looked happy this morning, sipping a cup of watered wine. “I love them all dearly, but sometimes it is nice to spend some time alone with my own children,” she said. “We so rarely do these days.” Dany always thought that her mother was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. While there were small hints of age in her almost flawless Valyrian face, they were easily overlooked. She directed a warm smile at her mother. It was good to see her happy. While rarely spoken of, Dany had heard enough to understand that her mother hadn’t had an easy time while Dany’s father was still alive.

Viserys on the other hand looked contemplative as he chewed on some bacon. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking these days. In many ways he looked like a younger Rhaegar, though somewhat slighter of build. That had recently changed as Viserys had begun taking his swordplay more seriously and had begun to fill out nicely.

It had all started with yet another disparaging remark directed against Rhaenys, but that applied equally to all the less _pure_ members of the family. Viserys had also expressed the thought that he ought to be Rhaegar’s heir and should marry his younger sister to keep the Dragon’s blood pure.

No one that heard him had been surprised, as he had said similar things several times prior. However, this time Jae had happened to overhear. The crown prince had not been amused, to put it mildly. The young boy of ten-and-two had given Viserys an _icy_ stare. Dany did not think he had been as affected by the insult to his own person as much as hearing disparaging words about Rhaenys or his younger sisters. Everybody knew that Jae loved them fiercely.

She remembered how Jae’s cold gray eyes had flared slightly purple. While his stare was ice cold, Dany sometimes imagined that this might well be what it meant to _wake the Dragon_. Jae had then ordered Ser Jaime to find them two practice swords and proceeded to utterly humiliate her poor fool of a brother, despite the seven year age difference. Everyone knew that Jae was a prodigy with a sword in hand even at his young age, but the sight of him in cold fury had forever been etched into Dany’s memory. And Viserys’ as well, it seemed.

She did not know what had been said between the two as Jae bent over the bleeding Viserys who lay sprawled on the ground. Even blunt edges could break skin if wielded with enough determination, it seemed. But she suspected that Jae’s words had pierced deeper. She only knew that the result was a very subdued Prince of Summerhall. It had perhaps taken him a while, but he had later apologized to Rhaenys, Visenya and Shaena, although the latter two were really too young to understand what it was all about.

Viserys had then asked the Kingsguard to train him thoroughly, whereas before he had not put the effort into his swordplay. Somehow Viserys had emerged from this an able fighter as well as Jae’s biggest supporter to Rhaegar’s great surprise and relief. Even his older brother hadn’t managed to rein in Viserys properly and had begun to despair at his attitude. The king had beamed with pride at his son; both for his fighting skills and for his protective attitude. Dany suspected he was relieved that Jae hadn’t taken it too far.

Sometimes Dany pretended that Jae had been roused to anger because of Viserys’ words about marrying Dany. The thought always made her feel so warm inside, but she didn’t really understand why. She made herself a plate of fruit and strawberry pie. She always broke her fasts on light, sweet foods. She missed him, and knew the others did too.

“Yes mother,” Viserys finally said. “Although, I’m afraid I shall depart for Summerhall soon. There’s a lot there that needs seeing to.”

Rhaegar looked pleased with his younger brother taking his responsibilities seriously. “You should take Ser Oswell with you to further your training. But more importantly, do not stay away for too long. Lord Arryn had just informed me he wishes to retire from his duties here and I intend to appoint you to Master of Laws in his stead.”

Viserys looked like he had been given half the kingdom. “I shall be back as soon as I can. I won’t disappoint you, brother,” he swore solemnly.

“Good,” Rhaegar replied with a small smile. “Serve me well as Master of Laws and perhaps one day when you’ve gained enough experience you will be made Hand of the King.” Viserys looked very proud at that thought. So did mother who smiled at her two sons fondly.

“That brings me to you, sweet sister.”

“To me, brother?” She asked worriedly. _What is this about?_

“Calm down, sister. It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Rhaegar chuckled. Her apprehension must have been quite visible. “Your mother informs me that you are bored with your lessons. Tell me, don’t you find them interesting at all? I remember absorbing my tutors’ every word and coming back each day hungry for more.” Rhaegar got something wistful in his eyes as he seemed to lose himself in memories.

“Get rid of that old boring Septa and I might have felt the same,” she murmured softly, thinking that no one could hear. She must have spoken louder than she thought because both her brothers burst out laughing. Rhaella just sighed heavily while she gave Dany an exasperated look.

“Oh dear sister, would you have found a Maester more to your liking?” Rhaegar asked amusedly.

“I don’t know, but it could hardly be _worse_ ,” she replied sullenly.

“Would that I could rid you of your Septa, Dany, but we have appearances to uphold. We must seem as devout followers of the Seven, whatever we shall think privately. This has been our way since Aegon the Conqueror.”

“Fine,” she huffed and reached for a piece of fruit. Well, that else was there to say. They were just having fun at her expense.

“Don’t look at me like that, sister,” Rhaegar said. “I actually have a suggestion for you. Under the supervision of Lya I want you to help the poor orphans of the city.”

“Me?” she asked surprised. _What do I know about poor orphans?_

“Yes, you. It will be good for you to get out of the castle and see the city. I expect you will learn a lot, as well as help those who have nothing. We must always remember that we were the fortunate ones to be born into this great family, but most people are not that fortunate and some truly deserve our pity – and our help.”  Her brother looked very serious when he spoke of this and she understood that he meant every word.

“I... I am not sure what I can do. But I will do whatever I can! And I’ll ask Lya for help,” she said. And she really was going to do it; suddenly she was excited at the prospect of doing something else with her time, and felt the weight of the responsibility as well. And maybe, just maybe it would be worth getting out of bed in the morning.

* * *

**Eddard**

It was a miserable day, almost evening already, when they finally spotted Winterfell from afar. Gray, windy, rainy and cold; there was nothing quite like good northern weather to welcome him home. Storm had just returned to him after having been gone for a couple of days, and was now running just ahead of him.

He tucked his furs closer around Rickon who was seated in front of him. With his one and only name day he was barely but a babe still. He should have had that bloody wheelhouse fixed, but did not expect to ride for Winterfell so soon. This was no decent way to travel with a toddler and Cat would never forgive him if little Rickon caught a cold.

Next to him rode his wife with Bran seated behind her. Robb rode just behind them next to Jae who had the honor of keeping Arya wrapped up in furs in front of him. She looked to be chatting away happily and Jae smiled at her indulgently. Neither Bran nor Arya lasted more than a few hours each day on their ponies before they grew too tired to keep up with the modest pace Ned had set for them. It had taken them close to three weeks to reach Winterfell, but now as he gazed upon the familiar castle he felt at peace in a way he doubted he could anywhere else.

 _Winterfell was home_ , for all that he was the Lord of Moat Cailin. That was still somewhat strange to him. He had always expected a small keep somewhere as the second son. Or perhaps he’d serve in some capacity at Winterfell. Instead he was the lord of the second largest stronghold in the North. Second or third in importance too; whether White Harbor was more important was debatable. _More important for the prosperity of the North, but not for its defense_ , he concluded.

He felt a bit bad for Benjen though. Stark tradition held that third sons serve at the Wall as to lead by example. While father would never have forced Benjen, in the end he didn’t have to. Benjen was always a dutiful son. With luck Benjen would come down to Winterfell during their stay.

As they approached the gates he spotted guards and other members of the household milling about, trying no doubt to get ready to greet their Prince. This was a big day for the Starks. Not since the days of Aegon the Conqueror had there been a prince with Stark blood, and here he was, looking far more a Stark than a Targaryen. He did not doubt that his lord father would be pleased.

He turned to look at his nephew. Jae’s face betrayed little of his thoughts or feelings as they beheld the immense castle and ancient seat of the Kings of Winter, with the mostly deserted Winter Town not far off. “It’s time, my prince.”

Jae nodded and rode up next to Ned as Cat fell back to ride beside Robb. It was important to make a good impression, and as such Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen ought to ride at the head of their party. Next to Ned, of course.

Behind them came Ser Jaime who had elected to pull out a large Targaryen banner as they approached Winterfell. The three-headed dragon in red on a black field announced Jae’s presence to the world, just as Ser Jaime’s billowing white cloak did. Jaime had japed that they needed the Dragon banner to remind everyone that Jae was indeed a dragon foremost, and not a wolf.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Ser Jaime. Given how close he seemed to be with Jae he must be an honorable man, but it was hard to square that thought with Jaime’s constant jokes – many of which Jae himself was the butt of. It seemed highly inappropriate, but he also didn’t doubt that his nephew was an honorable boy, nay not quite a boy; almost a man grown now.

There was no time for such thoughts as they finally rode through the South Gate. Once inside they pulled up well ahead of the welcoming party that had come out to greet them. Guards, servants, small-folk, indeed everyone seemed to watch them as they entered the courtyard. Brandon’s large black direwolf Shadow immediately fell upon Storm in playful excitement. Jae was the first to dismount, after which he helped Arya down.

“WELCOME TO WINTERFELL, PRINCE JAEHAERYS!” his brother Brandon’s voice boomed out all over the courtyard, breaking all manners of traditions and customs by speaking out of turn. But there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. As if on signal, everyone erupted in deafening cheers. When it finally subsided, he saw his lord father take a deep bow with everyone doing the same.

“Winterfell is yours, my prince.” His father said formally; voice weaker than Ned remembered. “By the Old Gods, you look just like my Lyanna”, he heard his father whisper as if he could hardly believe his eyes. “The wolves stand with the dragons, now and always!” Rickard added more strongly and everyone cheered again.

After a moment Jae held up his hand, calling for silence. “You honor me, my lord grandfather. My heart is filled with joy at standing here in the ancient seat of the Starks; in front of my beloved kin. My mother, Queen Lyanna, spoke ever so fondly of each and every one of you. She misses you greatly and sends her most heartfelt greetings.”

Ned could see that they were all pleased with how the prince had greeted them. The pride in their eyes was unmistakable; a pride that Ned felt even more strongly after having spent a few weeks in Jae’s company.

Of course, from then it could only go downhill.

First spoke his lord father. “I’ve always wondered which blood would win out if a dragon was matched with a wolf. Now the answer stands before my very eyes.” A bit of an awkward silence followed that.

Jae gave his grandfather an embarrassed smile as soon as he recovered from his momentary surprise, “While it’s true that I greatly take after my mother, my sisters Visenya and Shaena mostly look like my father, the King, except for their eyes. They have got their mother’s eyes.” Ned could faintly make out Ser Jaime snickering behind them and saw how Jae threw his Kingsguard a dirty look; pregnant with the promise of later retribution.

Brandon too seemed to find it funny, “But the strongest blood surely belongs to the Tullys!” He turned to Ned and the rest of his family. “Wouldn’t you say, Lord Redstark?” Brandon was the only one who seemed to find that funny. Ned rolled his eyes and prayed that this would soon be over. He could practically feel his wife’s displeasure at having been reminded of her perceived _failure_ to birth _proper_ Starks. As if there was anything wrong with their wonderful children.

 Jae finally came to his rescue. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Brandon. Would you be so kind and introduce me to your lovely family?”

At his nephew’s polite request Brandon could do nothing but comply. “This is my wife, Lady Barbrey, and the mother of my three beautiful daughters.” Jae bent over and gave her knuckles a peck. “My lady, my mother told me you caught Lord Brandon’s eye when he fostered at Barrowton, and I can certainly see why,” he charmed her. Her cheeks went slightly red at that, _did she think he alluded to the rumors of Brandon dishonoring her?_

Jae was then introduced to their three daughters, Lyarra, Berena and Robyn, of whom only the latter had a Ryswell name, although the name of a Ryswell lady who married a Stark. They all looked like a perfect mix between Brandon and Barbrey; with his colors on her face. All of them smiled at Jae prettily. Over his shoulder Ned spotted Robb giving Lyarra an appreciative look; a look which the young lady must have noticed given her sweet blush. _Or was it the prince she was blushing for?_

From what Ned knew about Lyarra, she was like a mix between his own Sansa and Arya; being more adventurous than the former but calmer than the latter. A true northern lady. If only his own daughters would find some kind of balance, and make peace between themselves. But then again, Berena and Robyn weren’t exactly proper little ladies either. _Gods, what a family; too much wolf blood_.

His musings were interrupted by his lord father after the last of the introductions were made. “Come on inside, everyone, it’s getting cold and we still have an important task before the feast. If we are to stand here much longer you might as well carry my old bones straight down to the crypts and be done with it,” he grumbled.

Everyone chuckled at that, although the worry for Lord Rickard was there too. He looked a lot frailer than he did the last time Ned saw him. He was paler than usual, and his voice didn’t carry as well as it used to. It was very worrisome and Ned thought that they need to send word to Lyanna, if Brandon hadn’t already done so. He approached his brother with the intent to speak to him about it.

* * *

**Jaehaerys**

It was with deepest reverence that Jae stepped inside the Great Hall of Winterfell, with Ser Jaime on his heels. This was his mother’s childhood home, and the home of his Stark ancestors. His eyes traced the gray stone walls on the inside, taking great interest in colorful banners and the finely woven tapestries depicting ancient heads of his family and glorious battles. Jae observed the interior in silence, still full of emotion at seeing his mother’s family.

His grandfather had been a surprise. Jae had always pictured Lord Rickard as a fierce warrior, but age had clearly taken its toll. His beard and hair had gone completely gray and wrinkles covered his face. He seemed to have some trouble walking and used a cane to steady himself. The _Old Wolf_ he was called, or so Jae had heard the Stark guards say on the road to Winterfell.

His heir Brandon however was exactly as Jae had imagined. He had the typical Stark look; gray eyes, long dark brown hair and a full beard of the same color. An exuberant man; warm, loud and somewhat inappropriate. He didn’t carry himself with the same quiet dignity as Uncle Ned, but people did speak of his charisma. _A leader whom people would follow then, but was he a good leader?_ Jae feared that they would soon find out what it meant to be led by the _Wild Wolf_.

Said uncle joined Jae as he slowly made his way inside. “My prince, we are greatly pleased to have you here,” he smiled. “We do hope you will like it, although what Winterfell can offer surely differs quite a lot from what you are used to down in King’s Landing.”

Jae nodded at that. “Aye, but in King’s Landing I cannot walk anywhere outside the castle without being immediately recognized. Here I look forward to exploring the land; the Wolfswood my mother so often spoke of, and to follow the White Knife all the way up to the Long Lake and beyond. I greatly desire to visit Uncle Benjen and Great-uncle Aemon on the Wall, and to visit the keeps and the holdfasts of your bannermen.”

Brandon’s booming laughter startled him with its intensity. “Ah, I see you are of a mind to explore then. Lyanna was exactly the same; she could never sit still for long, and for the record, so was I. I shall tell you of all the good spots.”

Jae smiled at him gratefully, immediately feeling comfortable around his uncle. “I already look forward to pick your brain, uncle.”

Brandon then motioned for Jae to follow him as he began to speed up. “Come,” he said, still smiling warmly. “The others have already gone straight to see the pups and as it looks now you will receive the last pick.” He pointed at the rest of the family which had congregated by the raised platform at the far end of the Hall.

Jae nodded and followed with Jaime right behind him, the excitement growing rapidly within him. “Father wanted the pups brought inside, to be handed over first thing upon your arrival. You have no idea how excited he has been about their timely births,” Brandon said.

“A sign from the Gods, you wrote Uncle Ned,” Jae filled in.

“Aye, I almost believe it myself. It’s just too bloody precise for it to be coincidence, I mean with the number of pups and their genders.” Brandon raised the palms of his hands and shrugged, as if it to indicate that it was well beyond him. Jae understood fully, he didn’t put much store in the Gods himself, but this was all a little bit too much to be pure chance.

“Politically it will play really well with your bannermen, I’m sure,” Jae said after a moment. “For House Stark to be seen to have the favor of the Gods.”

“Aye,” Brandon said, “but the arrival of the direwolves all these years ago changed all our plans,” he added almost ruefully. _Perhaps Brandon wasn’t happy to abandon the Southron ambitions?_ Jae wondered, but refrained from saying more as they finally reached the platform. He heard squeals of delight and laughter coming from all his younger cousins. Robb held up a small gray pup and exclaimed excitedly, “Look at him, what a fierce beast he will be one day!”

They had laid out several furs on the floor where they were all gathered, with an obscenely large gray-and-white direwolf at its center. _This must be Winter_ , Jae thought. Little Rickon was giggling as a dark furred little pup began to lick his face as Lady Catelyn looked ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. _Perhaps he was too young to be afraid, while she was too Southern not to be_.

Sansa and Lyarra cooed at their little pups, while Arya was already trying to play with hers. The pups were too young and small to really play though, but she wouldn’t let that deter her. Bran was just petting his own pup softly that seemed to have fallen asleep on his lap. The little boy’s eyes were wide and his face flushed with excitement. Berena and Robyn had carried theirs away and were jumping up and down next to Lady Barbrey who smiled at them indulgently.

On the far end corner of the large gray furs there was one small pup left. At first Jae hadn’t even seen him as he seemed to have crawled away from the others. Its fur was all white as snow. He walked over to it, bent down and lifted it up by the scruff of its neck. Slowly and carefully he turned it around to face him until small - but somehow familiar - red eyes met gray.

 _This one is mine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!  
> A big thank you to all who left kudos and/or reviewed.


	4. Winterfell II - 297 AC

**Jaehaerys**

The clanks of steel against steel filled the training grounds of Winterfell as the sun stood high in the sky above. Cheeks flushed red and with sweat streaming down his face, Robb was struggling to keep the Kingsguard’s blunted sword at bay. Dressed in leather armor while his opponent had foregone all armor, his cousin parried and took yet another step back on the cobblestone ground. Without a moment’s hesitation Jaime followed and attacked again, first high, then with a fluid low follow-up that grazed Robb’s left thigh.

 _That must have hurt, even though it didn’t cut flesh_. Jae winced in sympathy pain as Robb recovered somewhat and started to adjust his weight away from his left foot. It wouldn’t be long now, Jae knew as he watched the spar from his seat on a crudely axed wooden bench. He had seen the more or less same spar countless times during this past year at Winterfell. They had settled into a demanding routine of practice and lessons ever since Uncle Ned had taken most of his family back to Moat Cailin.

Jaime looked relaxed; a small smile revealed that the tall and strong knight truly enjoyed these bouts. _He’s not going to smile as much when I finally put him in his place_ , Jae vowed silently. The day must come eventually. He did better than Robb, as his greater speed was more effective against Jaime than Robb’s greater strength, but neither of them did well enough.

Just two weeks past Jae had landed his first hit on Jaime; the barest touch of a feather really, but it had been enough for Jaime to double his efforts. While it was an important milestone, Jae had since then not been able to replicate it to his great chagrin.

In a few moments it was over. Robb still held onto his sword as Jaime swept his good leg from under him. His cousin landed on his back and Jae swore he could almost hear how Robb’s lungs emptied of air. “Good spar, lad,” Jaime smiled, “you’re improving. Slowly perhaps, but still not bad for a northerner.” He didn’t even look winded as he bent over his fallen opponent. Robb said something in reply, but Jae was too far away to make out the words. He could only imagine what his cousin said as Jaime threw back his head and laughed.

Robb had initially been taken aback at Jaime’s constant belittling comments. But seeing how Jae merely shrugged it off, and more often than not responded in kind, had slowly begun to affect his cousin and his ability and willingness to engage in verbal spars. Whether that kind of influence on the future Lord of Winterfell was good or not, Jae honestly did not know.

Perhaps not. Not if the North remained as inward-looking as it currently was. While he felt personally at home with his northern kin, he sometimes felt as if the North was a kingdom apart and not subject to the Iron Throne. And he, for all his Stark blood, was a representative of the royal family, and therefore an outsider; an emissary of a foreign nation.

A wet nose interrupted his thoughts as it nudged the back of his hand. He looked down and saw Ghost coming to press himself against him. The pups had all grown a surprising amount in just a year, Jae thought as he bent down to scratch his neck. At a few moons, Ghost had already been the size of small dog and now he seemed to have started yet another growth spurt, equal in size to a large hound. Not that Jae knew all that much about direwolves and their growth patterns, but he was certain that every time he looked Ghost had added an inch. But if Ghost added an inch, Grey Wind seemed to have added an inch and then a touch more, he noted as Robb’s wolf followed.

While Grey Wind and Ghost were close, as true littermates, there was something amusing in watching Grey Wind cozy up with _Mist_ , cousin Lyarra’s gray-white wolf bitch. It was amusing since Robb was still quite awkward with Lyarra and often had to retrieve Grey Wind from her, all the while stammering incoherently. It provided ample material for teasing.

Jae himself had never met a girl who caused his tongue to tie itself in knots like Robb’s did around Lyarra. Unbidden, the memory of Dany’s face flickered through his mind, but that was foolishness, he had always been able to speak coherently with her.

“Are you hungry, Ghost?” Jae asked the white wolf who was nipping softly at his fingers. While Ghost hardly ever made a sound, Grey Wind began to whine softly as if he tried to answer Jae’s question for his silent brother. “Alright then, off we go,” Jae said as he rose to his now rested feet and began to make his way over to the kitchen with Jaime as usual falling in behind him, despite being a lot more relaxed about his duties at Winterfell.

After having spent a couple of hours training under Ser Rodrik’s watchful eyes, Jae had been the first to go up against Jaime. Their spars usually marked the end of the weapons training each day and there was something unfair about practicing strikes and parries only to go up against a fresh Jaime.

“Tomorrow,” he vowed.

“I beg your pardon, my Prince?” Jaime asked, looking confused.

“Tomorrow you will eat dust,” Jae clarified when he realized that he had given voice to his thoughts. “I can feel it.”

Jaime just laughed. “I lost count of how many times I’ve heard those words before,” he teased. Jae reluctantly admitted that he had cause, but this time it was different. He said as much.

“Be careful there, or history will remember you as Jaehaerys the Dreamer, the Prince who couldn’t keep his promise,” Jaime quipped.

Jae groaned at the horrible puns and deeply regretted his tendency to trust Jaime with Targaryen lore as well as his own deepest insecurities. “Seven hells, Jaime, please take some things seriously!”

Jaime just raised an eyebrow at him incredulously, as if to ask _“Do you even know me?”_

When they made it to the kitchen they found that Berena and Robyn were already feeding their own pups. Berena’s gray-black _Shade_ and Robyn’s pitch black _Raven_ were both ripping into what looked like the innards of a hog. They growled as the tugged the meat back and forth between them, but when they became aware of Ghost and Grey Wind they immediately took their catch further into the kitchens. The kitchen maids looked on in what seemed like equal parts horror and equal parts reverence.

Jae could very well imagine the thoughts that ran through their minds. While by now surely used to the presence of direwolves; creatures out of legend to many even in the North, they had all heard his Lord Grandfather often speak of the significance of the direwolves. He himself had heard it many times before, both in private and in the presence of everyone in the Great Hall.

_“This is not a time to gloat; to claim that by sending us the sigils of our House surely the Gods are pleased with us. Do not be fooled! The direwolves are an omen, a clear warning of dark and dangerous times ahead and we must prepare for the coming winter!”_

While Uncle Brandon had rolled his eyes discreetly, Lord Stark had stressed repeatedly how the latest births, of one pup for each Stark child, meant that all the children had important roles to play and would need to stay in the North. Jae remembered how Sansa had been crestfallen and looked to be on the brink of tears. There was no doubt that grandfather had ruined her southern dreams, and by the look on Aunt Catelyn’s face also her plans had been thrown to the wind.

Jae had placed an arm around Sansa’s shoulders and whispered softly that she could still visit the South and that although this decision wasn’t by any means final, perhaps the North was a much better place for Lady.

All of that was soon forgotten when Lord Stark had then pointed out the significance of Ghost’s coloring, the only direwolf to belong to a half-wolf Dragon. With his white coat and red eyes, grandfather had rhetorically asked what they were reminded of. _“Weirwood trees!”_ little Robyn had shouted excitedly.

Lord Stark had smiled approvingly at his youngest granddaughter and pointed out that the Gods were surely watching them through Ghost’s eyes, but the white direwolf was ever silent just as they were, unless you knew how to listen. No one had looked at Ghost the same way ever since. Or at himself for that matter. Sometimes he thought he could hear their whispers.

He observed silently as Ghost and Grey Wind each got a large piece of meat and began to devour them; one growling and the other deadly silent. He was not sure what to make of grandfather’s words. Jae was not a man to be inclined towards the mysteries. Not like father and grandfather were. It was impossible not to take notice of the strange coincidence of the exact number of direwolves, but he wasn’t sure if the Gods, whether new or old, had anything to do with it.

The Gods rarely seemed to care or involve themselves in the affairs of man, judging by what Jae had learned in his history books. Where was the Mother’s mercy when children were slaughtered and women raped during the countless wars and uprisings that had ravaged Westeros? Where was the Father’s judgment when ruthless lords preyed on the weak; when robbers took what was not theirs? No, the Seven were convenient fictions; names put on the unknown; hopes and wishes given face. He wasn’t as sure about the nameless northern Gods.

“Always with the brooding, cousin?” Lyarra’s teasing voice came from behind him. She had quietly joined them, while _Mist_ confidently approached the still growling Grey Wind. The largest pup in the pack let out a small whine before he stepped aside slightly to give his sister access to the feast. She gave him a quick sniff before she dug into the meal. “It’s not fair that you take all the worries of the world for yourself and leave none for the rest of us!” Lyarra smiled at him. She was a warm person, impossible not to like, but with a sharp tongue.

“Well, it would hardly be fair to my Father if I had not taken after him in any way,” he joked back.

She looked at him skeptically, having never met the King. “One could almost believe that Uncle Ned was your father. You seem so much alike.”

Jae didn’t doubt it, but he knew he could never be as honorable as his uncle was said to be. Life seemed kinder to pragmatists and he’d rather rule long and well when it was his turn. He kept those thoughts to himself though. Jae didn’t imagine it was easy to explain to northerners that you could still want to do the right thing even if you used less than honorable methods. Sometimes he thought that his mother had yet to learn that lesson, for all her time at court. He immediately forced the familiar longing for her down.

“Yes, I can readily believe how I am really the bastard son of the Lord of Moat Cailin; hidden away in plain sight at court to escape Aunt Catelyn’s unforgiving eyes!”

Lyarra burst out in a very unladylike laughter that he found very appealing. Everything about her was appealing, from her long dark brown curls to the shape of her developing curves, he thought somewhat regretfully. She was Robb’s betrothed, never his.

"I bet Robb would have been pleased to find out that he has another brother, although from the looks of it you couldn’t be any closer unless someone tied you together with thick rope,” Lyarra answered just as Robb stepped inside the kitchen.

“What’s that about being tied with ropes?” their cousin asked suspiciously, cheeks reddening slightly though as he met Lyarra’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Nothing, dear cousin,” Jae replied with a mischievous smile. “Lyarra was just discussing various ideas for after the bedding ceremony.”

At Robb’s now beet red cheeks and stammered response, Jae couldn’t help himself but burst out laughing. Even Jaime guffawed from his position at the door. Lyarra too seemed to have found it very amusing, but she also directed a pitying look at Robb who was still trying to recover and a withering look at Jae. She was unlike most women Jae had ever met, but he understood that northern women simply didn’t follow the same conventions and expectations that southern women were raised with.

“Don’t listen to him, Robb,” Lyarra reassured him. “There’s still plenty of time to plan the bed.. I mean wedding,” she teased while Berena and Robyn just looked on confusedly. At that Robb simply fled the kitchen, having already had enough. He was so innocent sometimes and needed some corrupting influences. If only Tyrion had been here, Jae thought wistfully.

Still, Jaime was not that bad either, even though he to Jae’s knowledge never frequented any brothels. _Perhaps he took his oaths too seriously for that_ , he mused, although it seemed unlikely. He just couldn’t figure out any other reason. As Kingsguard, if he had a beloved nothing could ever come from it. He struck the thought from his mind.

* * *

**Robb**

“In the name of Rhaegar of the house Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I Brandon of house Stark, Heir to Winterfell and the North, I do sentence you to die.”

With a mighty swing Brandon brought Ice down on the neck of their captured deserter. It was a clean strike and blood spurted out of the man’s severed neck, painting the grass red around them. The man had barely uttered a coherent word. All Robb had understood was _“they’re coming”_ but it wasn’t clear who he referred to. Wildlings, most assuredly.

Brandon watched his work somberly. The normally jovial uncle had a rarely seen serious look to his face. “Gah!” he finally spat. “This is the third one in as many moons. Last year we had only two during the entire year.”

Robb watched his uncle from where he stood next to Jae and Jaime, Stark and Targaryen banners fluttering in the wind above them. Both boys had been invited to every execution, but Robb did not enjoy them anymore here than he had at Moat Cailin. Such a waste, but Uncle Brandon had stressed how dangerous deserters were; who truly had nothing to lose as their lives were already forfeit.

“He died well,” Robb said suddenly. “No plea for mercy, no begging.” He was not sure he could ever meet his own death without even attempting a struggle.

“It wouldn’t have helped him, my lord,” Ser Rodrik spoke up, looking grim. “He must have known it as soon as he left his post on the Wall.” With his hand he motioned to a couple of Stark men-at-arms to begin digging the deserter’s grave. It would be a hole in the ground, covered in dirt. Soon forgotten by the world.

“Aye,” Brandon said. “Something must have frightened him so greatly that death seemed more of a relief than punishment. Just like the others.” He spat again. Hints of worry and grim determination were visible on his ruggedly handsome face.

“My Father should be informed of this,” Jae spoke up softly as he pushed his long curls away from his eyes, adjusting his headband slightly. “If the Wildlings are planning something, the King must know.”

Uncle Brandon gave Jae a considering look before he answered. “Aye, but what do we tell His Grace? As worrying as these deserters are, we still know nothing.”

“Maybe we should call Uncle Benjen back to Winterfell? Surely he could tell us all that is going on,” Robb suggested.

“We could, but word from the Wall is that Benjen is out on yet another ranging. It would have to wait until he’s back,” Brandon said as he wiped off Ice on the grass while the direwolves sniffed at the blood. He would undoubtedly clean it more properly once they were back at Winterfell. His uncle always sought solitude in the Godswood after an execution, just like his Lord Father did at Moat Cailin. Brandon had explained it was the Stark way when Jae had asked.

Robb had a feeling the idea of waiting for word of Benjen’s return didn’t sit easily with Brandon as no one knew when that would be. He said as much.

“You’re right, lad.” Brandon said approvingly. “I have decided that we shall ride for the Wall on the morrow. The Lord Commander will know what there is to know.” He nodded at Jae and Robb. “The two of you shall come along. It will be a good learning experience for the both of you and it’s high time we inspect the Wall more closely,” he added. Turning to Jae he smiled, “And I don’t doubt you would be happy to see your great-uncle Maester Aemon!”

They eventually rode back to Winterfell, with Robb and Jae chatting excitedly about their upcoming journey. “What about you Ser Jaime?” Robb asked at one point. “Aren’t you excited to finally see the Wall, the greatest structure built by man?”

Jaime snorted. “It’s a wall. Made of ice. Of impressive height and seize, no doubt, but with nothing but Wildlings, trees and snow on the other side. But it’s still a wall in a place where ice doesn’t melt. I’d rather go south to King’s Landing, or to Casterly Rock. Now that’s a grand building!”

Robb was about to retort angrily, but Jae spoke up before he had a chance. “You surprise me, Ser Jaime. Should I ask Father to send a replacement? Would you rather be assigned to my sisters Visenya or Shaena? Or perhaps to the Queen Mother to guard her door or escort her to luncheons; to get some excitement in your dull life, instead of being forced to traverse the cold North with me?”

Jaime sputtered an indignant protest, “No thank you, my Prince. I’m honored to accompany the Crown Prince wherever he shall go, no matter if my bits shrivel from the cold. It’s a price any Kingsguard would gladly pay to see a big wall of ice.”

Jae gave Jaime an annoyed look. Sometimes the knight seemed to take his irreverence too far even for Robb’s normally self-composed cousin. Finally the prince said, “Stop complaining like a little baby then. If you’re lucky I will send you beyond the Wall to take a look at these Wildlings for me. A bit of scuffling with snarks and grumkins, not to mention the giants, would surely warm your blood and keep the drift ice in your balls at bay. Although the Gods know that only your right hand would care.”

Robb chuckled softly and so did Brandon, who must have overheard from his position ahead of them. Jaime’s eyes flashed briefly with anger before he seemed to change his mind. He smiled then, “I’m impressed, my Prince. Those are big words for someone who has yet to touch a maid. One might be forgiven if one thought that someone who speaks like that must have been sneaking out to Winter Town at night. But fret not, as your faithful shadow I will defend your honor and can truthfully attest to the fact that you remain untouched and unspoiled!”

Robb watched Jae’s cheeks redden, but whether in anger or embarrassment he couldn’t tell. Brandon and Ser Rodrik roared with laughter however. Even the Stark men-at-arms failed to hide their amusement, however unseemly it was to laugh at a prince. Robb huffed, feeling the joke aimed at him just as much as at Jae, while his cousin merely threw Jaime a withering look. Suddenly riding back in silence seemed a great idea.

* * *

**Jaehaerys**

The evening meal that day was a chaotic affair. Lyarra pleaded with her father to be allowed to come with them, but Brandon wouldn’t budge. He argued that with Lords Umber, and even Lord Karstark to the east, reporting an increase in wildling raids it was simply too risky. From what Jae could tell the argument did not impress his cousin much.

“And who will protect Robb and Jae?” she asked as she angrily threw Mist a piece of chicken. Aunt Barbrey had tried to put an end to that behavior early on, but had finally given up on the futile endeavor.

“They are fourteen, almost men grown and quite able with sword in hand.” He retorted. Robb gave Jae a pleased look that he met by raising his cup of weak ale in salute, swelling slightly at the praise.

Brandon must have caught it however, “Capable enough to hold back enemies until help can reach them.” Jae felt himself bristle at the insinuation that he needed help against a Wildling, but before he could say as much, Brandon continued with a small smile, “Yet still so green that they piss grass. Perhaps you’re right dear; maybe it’s better if we leave the boys here where it’s safe.”

Fortunately Lord Rickard decided to intervene. “They cannot remain boys forever. Winter is coming. They must come with you.” Brandon just rolled his eyes at his Lord Father’s lack of humor. In the past year Jae had learned that this was an ongoing theme in their relationship. While Rickard’s word was law, due to his ailing health Brandon was already the acting lord of Winterfell as well as of the North. “Yes, of course Father.”

His grandfather nodded. Then he turned to Jae, “Word arrived from King’s Landing that your mother and sisters will set sail for White Harbor in just a week from now.” The words surprised Jae. With roughly fifteen to eighteen days from King’s Landing, another three-to-four weeks on the road to Winterfell and they might arrive roughly at the same time as Jae returned from the Wall. With clear weather and unencumbered by wagons and other equipment they might need to ride for about twenty days to reach the Wall and an equal time back. He really wanted to be back to greet them when they arrived. Sometimes he missed them so much it hurt. Dany and father too.

Brandon seemed to have sensed his thoughts, “We shall only remain at the Wall for a week or two. Undoubtedly Lord Manderly will take this opportunity to prepare sumptuous feasts for the Queen, sparing no expense.”

Jae sent him a grateful look at that and nodded, already feeling better about their trip.

His grandfather seemed oblivious to the exchange however, or perhaps he simply decided that it was of no matter. He looked at Jae as he continued, “As you’re leaving tomorrow I want you to join me in my solar after supper. Alone.” He didn’t elaborate however.

Jae looked at uncle Brandon and Robb, but they both shrugged as if to say that they had no idea what it was about.

***

A couple of hours later, Jae headed to Lord Stark’s solar through winding corridors, not knowing what to expect, Jaime trailed behind him as usual. He had met the Lord Stark privately quite a few times – as had Robb – but he had a sense that tonight was different. During previous talks they had not met in the solar as his grandfather had all but vacated it in favor of Brandon, who already served as the acting lord. Instead they often met by the Heart Tree, which seemed to be Lord Rickard’s favored place.

His grandfather had seemed to want different things each time. Sometimes he simply desired to get to know Jae better. At other times, usually those he shared with Robb, he had imparted valuable lessons the Starks had learned the hard way, on everything about dealing with bannermen; who to raise up and reward, who to keep an eye on.

At yet other times he had talked about how _winter_ was the one constant enemy in the North; much deadlier than the Andals and their false gods. Jae had cringed slightly at the last bit, but had as usual chosen to say nothing.

The worst was one time a few moons ago when he had given his greatly embarrassed grandsons _the talk_ , or at least a version of it, stressing also how important it was to not dishonor the daughters of their bannermen. If such urges could not be controlled, it was better to visit a brothel. But even then they should take care to only visit clean establishments, as surely they did not want any problems _in that area_.

Poor Robb who was betrothed to Lord Stark’s granddaughter looked like he wanted the earth to rise up and swallow him where he sat.

Perhaps tonight had to do with the Wall. Or musings on the old Gods. He would have to wait and see.

When he finally reached his destination, a guard bowed to him, then knocked quickly on the door before he opened it and announced Jae’s presence.

As Jae stepped into the familiar study where he and Robb often helped Uncle Brandon run the North. It was for the most part tedious work. Lots of numbers and calculations that neither he nor Robb particularly cared for.

“Come sit, my boy,” grandfather waved at him invitingly from behind the large desk. “Ser Jaime, I’m afraid this is not even for the ears of a Kingsguard, pray forgive me but I hope you don’t mind waiting outside.” For all his politeness it wasn’t a request.

At Jae’s nod Jaime shrugged and stepped outside as the door closed behind him.

Jae turned to his grandfather expectantly. It wasn’t the first time that Jaime had to leave. Lord Stark cared little for _Southron_ vows and ideas of honor.

“Tomorrow is the first time you will truly leave Winterfell since you arrived here more than a year ago,” his grandfather began. “I can tell that both you and Robb are excited.” He smiled at him.

Jae only nodded in response, not sure where his grandfather was going with this. _Did he call him here for small talk?_

“You must wonder why I asked you here,” Lord Rickard continued undeterred by Jae’s simple response.

Jae nodded again, but felt he had to offer more. “I do indeed, grandfather. But I am starting to fear that you will hold it up and dangle it out of reach, just to watch me squirm in anticipation.” He smiled to show that he meant no offense.

His grandfather did not smile however, but muttered softly something that sounded like _“Would that I could,”_ but Jae wasn’t sure he heard correctly. Now Jae was definitely curious, but suddenly afraid it was bad news. He shifted nervously in his seat, fiddling with the sleeves of his tunic.

It must not have escaped Lord Rickard’s notice, as he reached over the desk and put a calming hand on Jae’s arm. “Fear not, my boy, it’s not bad news. I do hope that the consequences will not be bad either, but that is in the hands of the Gods.”

His grandfather pulled back his arm and bent down behind his desk. A moment later he held up a small chest, entirely made of iron, no longer than Jae’s forearm. He hesitated then for a moment before he spoke anew.

“Perhaps it is better that I show you.”

With that he pulled out a key and slowly opened the chest. Jae leaned forward to see better and could hardly believe his eyes. _How in the Seven Hells did a dragon egg end up in Winterfell?!!_

It was beautiful. A deep red was its most dominant color, but there was a touch of yellow too. He was simply mesmerized by it.

“I was close to give it to your father when he was here,” his grandfather continued softly, as if lost in memories. “But something held me back.”

Jae didn’t really understand. “What could have held you back, my lord?’

Rickard shrugged. “I honestly do not know. It just didn’t feel right. We all know the circumstances around the King’s birth. In him I saw a promising king; I suppose I didn’t want to add more to his already heavy burdens given the nature of his own father.” He paused for a second before he addressed the question that Jae was about to raise next. “It was discovered some years after Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had been here and it seems more than likely that this egg was laid by Vermax.”

“But why didn’t you give it back to my father later? Why didn’t your father or grandfather give it back to my family? Is there more than one egg?” Jae wanted to know. The dragon within him awoke in fury at the affront, but he managed to keep a tight grip on his emotions. Both sides were family.

“There was only the one. Back then the royal family had many dragons and it did not seem urgent. I discovered old notes suggesting that there were plans to gift the egg to the royal family when the Pact of Ice and Fire would finally be fulfilled. Yet that day never came, the promise to Lord Cregan never kept after he had helped turn the tide of war.” The last part was said with some surprising bitterness, as if it was an ancient affront; a dishonor done to the Starks, repeated by each new generation of Targaryens.

“When your mother was wed I thought of gifting it, but I eventually decided that the first Dragon in history with the blood of the direwolf should be the one to receive it. It is after all a _northern_ dragon, whatever its ancestry, just like you, dear grandson.”

Jae tried desperately to wrap his head around the idea that there had been a dragon egg at Winterfell all this time. It didn’t make sense, yet here it was right in front of him.

He had never seen a dragon egg before, believing like his father that most had been lost at Summerhall. His father had sent men to scour the lands, even beyond Westeros, in search for dragon eggs, but so far no one had heard of any.

With reverence he slowly picked up the large reddish egg. As he held it up he could see the yellow more clearly. The combination looked like fire had been integrated into the shell. He put his ear to it; listening intently. There was nothing to be heard. Only his own labored breath. While he heard nothing, he swore there was _something_. A feel to it, beyond words, out of reach from his five senses. But still there.

He was eventually brought back to the present when his grandfather spoke again.

“I have observed you closely during your stay here. You are a Dragon, there’s no doubt about it. But the Direwolf is strong within you, not just in the looks from your mother. Now, I do not know if the egg I am giving you can ever be hatched, but I can feel it in my old bones that if it ever does, you will be a worthy rider. The wolf will help rein in the dragon.” Tears glistened in the old Stark lord’s eyes. The unspoken words hung between them,

 _“I hope, for all our sakes_. _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and reviews!
> 
> 4/6: Minor edits.


	5. A Bowl of Brown

**Daenerys**

The sun was still rising as the small party entered Flea Bottom. Everywhere they passed they drew looks, perhaps because the hustle and bustle of the day was only in its infancy, perhaps because they were unlike any other group that made its way into the chronically poverty-stricken parts of the city.

Craftsmen, peddlers, shop keepers, guards, children – many stopped what they were doing to gaze upon what surely must be important people, given the dozen determined-looking guards with the red three-headed dragon proudly displayed on their black surcoats, with leather-gloved hands gripping hilts tightly.

The guards held little interest to most onlookers, perhaps save for the small boys and young men who still dreamed of leading different lives than what was on offer in the slums of King’s Landing. A fierce-looking black destrier, who looked ready to trample anyone in its way under its iron-clad hooves, drew more looks. Yet further attention was paid to its rider.

Astride the great warhorse a proud knight’s shining silver armor reflected the rays of a sun that was still shaking off its slumber. The long white cloak and constantly searching eyes signaled extreme violence, barely held back, but ready to be unleashed in an instant if any should pose a threat to his charge.

Yet, it was the lone young woman at the center of the party who drew the most looks. She wore a blue sleeveless dress, the like of which only the daughters and wives of the highborn could conceivably afford, and was mounted on a white mare of the finest breeding, with white gloved hands casually holding the reins.

What truly set her apart however was her long silver hair; falling softly down her shoulders and back, and the kind violet eyes that unflinchingly took in the sight of the small folk; neither their filthy rags nor their nakedness could make her avert her eyes.

The silent onlookers might be forgiven if they mistook her for the Maiden herself; descended down from on high, deep into the depths of human misery. Yet she was something else, neither beholden to Gods nor men, but a descendant of the ancient Valyrian dragonlords.

As they slowly rode deeper into Flea Bottom the scenery changed for the worse. Down through narrow winding streets they rode, where the horses’ hooves at times sank deep into the muck. Dany took it all in, but refused to let it affect her. It was hardly the first time she had borne witness to the squalor far too many of the Royal subjects lived in.

In the beginning it had touched her deeply; as if scales had fallen from her eyes. All she had ever known was the safety and splendor of the Red Keep, of Dragonstone and the newly rebuilt Summerhall – all testaments to the glorious reign of the sole remaining dragonlords.

 _Some dragonlords we are now_ , she mused. Yet the immense skulls proudly on display in the throne room of the Red Keep, bore eternal and undisputable witness to their once unrivaled power.

But what troubled the princess was not the lack of dragons, for them to once again reign supreme. This past year she had been confronted with the horrors of abject poverty. What weighed heavily on her mind was that for all the Targaryen might, they still could not do much but treat the worst symptoms of it.

It was not that they lacked the will to do something about the situation of their most unfortunate subjects. Dany had fought tooth and nail with the Master of Coin for a greater distribution of food, beyond what she had managed with her soup kitchens and orphanage. But Lord Gyles Rosby had claimed that such funding was not available, and furthermore, if it had been, there were surely far greater priorities than distributing food to _useless small folk_.

Dany had pleaded with him, telling him heart-wrenching stories of children hardly anything to eat. He had not been moved by the words of a thirteen year old girl, princess or not. She had screamed at him, calling him a heartless oaf who should hope to never fall on such hard times himself, since the Gods on that day would surely close their ears to his cries. He had not been amused and Dany had later been reprimanded by the Lord Hand for her blatant lack of respect.

However, it was probably telling Jon Connington to do them all a favor and throw himself into Blackwater Bay that Dany regretted the most. Her brother Rhaegar had not been amused at her behavior and she had been locked inside the royal apartments for an entire week. It had been most satisfying though. _Pompous prick_ , she thought disdainfully. Yes, Flea Bottom had definitely taken a toll on her language, as her mother so often lamented.

It was still not as satisfying as when she had brought a bowl of standard Flea Bottom fare to the Small Council. It had taken some convincing and subtle threats, but the Kingsguard had not dared to lay hands on her to prevent her from barging in. She had carried the small bowl herself and had slammed it down on the large table where they all were congregated.

She had lifted the lid and revealed its contents to the honored members of the Small Council. Their collective gagging had been worth it all by itself. “This is what is known as a Bowl of Brown, my lords,” she said as she pointed at the disgusting stew, trying to keep the bile from rising in her own throat. Bits of _something_ were floating around, and were in her eyes indistinguishable from the muck that her horse currently stepped in. “You, who will not help the poor, I dare you to eat their food!”

The cowards had unfortunately not risen to the occasion, however much she had wanted to bear witness to such a thing. Their outrage had not even abated when she informed them that this was all little Olida of six years had to eat today.

Rhaegar’s own initial anger had slowly turned into astonished pride. He later confessed in private that he had never realized what he was about to unleash on King’s Landing when he gave her the task.

On the King’s orders, funding had been increased, but while she could provide more and better food for her soup kitchens and orphanage, the needs far outweighed the means. She still fought with Lord Rosby over every copper, but despite her many small victories, it was as if nothing had changed.

***

After half an hour’s ride they finally arrived at a small house, where barefoot children ran around outside. The stench from the muck was not as bad here, but it was still present. As much as King’s Landing had benefitted from Rhaegar’s sewage system, not every street and alley had been cleaned up. Old habits die hard, even though throwing human waste on the streets were punished when caught in the act by Lord Jon Arryn’s Goldcloaks.

With a deep breath she dismounted and put her feet down on the dirty ground. She pitied the servants who had to clean her riding boots after each of her frequent excursions to the city. The children had now begun to notice her and the oldest, a girl, gave her a large smile.

“Princess!” she shouted as she ran to greet her. She had dirty dark hair that was divided into two braids, a brown dress full of patches. Olida was still one of Dany’s favorites though and it broke her heart that there was so little she could do for her. “Come Olida!” she responded and held out her arms to receive the little girl. The other children followed closely behind, but more hesitantly.

“Did you bring sweets, Princess?” Olida asked hopefully. She always made sure to bring some, so she quickly motioned for a guardsman to bring her a large bag with tightly wrapped cakes. After a moment’s fiddling she had it open and began to distribute honey and plum cakes, as sweet as can be.

She watched as the children gobbled up the cakes and when more children joined, she made sure they each received their fair share and that none left empty-handed. One thing bothered her however, but it took her a while to figure out what it was.

“Olida, where is Calla?” she asked the happily eating girl. Calla was one of the oldest girls, and Dany guessed she was about twelve or thirteen, but most of the children did not really know how old they were.

Her question caused Olida to look down, as if she was unwilling to speak of it.

“Why isn’t she here, Olida?” she asked again. “She always loved the cakes.”

“I don’t know,” the girl finally said. “Man came and took Calla with him.”

“What man, Olida? Who was that man? And where did she go?”

“I don’t know, Princess!” There were tears in Olida’s eyes now.

One of the boys who had listened to their conversation spoke up, “He said there was work, he did. Said she would eat, and sleep in a soft bed.”

 _Gods be good_ , Dany thought as her eyes began to tear up. She had tried to tell them so many times that these promises were worth nothing, that the girls would earn their food on their backs and the only soft beds they would see would be shared with different men every night. But the temptation often proved too great. And what could she offer them instead but mere words?

She had seen it too many times before and she was just as helpless each time. Once she had tracked a girl down, but could not persuade her from staying. Other times the girls had all but disappeared. Her good-sister Lya had been the one to first explain what it meant, and why so many girls – and boys – ended up in the pleasure houses. It was a hard life that awaited them there, but hardship was all these children had ever known.

It was as frustrating as it was heart-breaking.

After a while she left the children and went to see the ever grateful Matron. There were always things that needed seeing to and Dany tried to grant what help she could. But besides better food, clothes and sandals, the list of things she could offer was short. Oh there was the occasional repair she could pay a craftsman for, but between her budget and the orphanages she ran, money was tight. “May the Maiden keep you safe, my Princess,” the Matron blessed her upon departure.

It was when they passed by a seedy looking tavern, with all the tell-signs of also being a pleasure house, that Dany got an idea. And she knew exactly in whom she might find an ally.

* * *

**Rhaegar**

With a deep sigh Rhaegar leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the mess of the last few days. He had unwittingly unleashed a dragon on his Small Council, whose split had made some members almost unwilling to speak to one another. All because of the city’s many brothels.

Somehow his sweet little Dany had gained an ally in Lord Arryn in her quest to shut down the pleasure houses. When the honorable Master of Laws had brought his proposal before the Small Council he had caused apoplexy; with Lord Rosby almost bursting a vein by the looks of it. The brothels were indeed a good source of income for the treasury.

The Spider had quietly mentioned how the brothels were great sources of information, as men grew careless in the heat of the moment and often wanted to impress even the whores. Jon Arryn had quickly retorted that there was little of value that could be learned from such pillow-talk, and that he was curious how many boys and girls should be sacrificed to men’s lechery in order to supply such _crucial_ information. Lord Arryn had never been one to hide his disdain for such dishonor.

 _“However many is necessary for the Realm to be kept safe”_ , Varys replied, seemingly unbothered by the notion. Sometimes Rhaegar wondered what really motivated the Spider. Was it truly just the happiness of the many?

Then his Hand Jon Connington had argued that if men were not allowed to satisfy their urges lawfully, there would be riots and the rapes of innocent women would undoubtedly increase.

“The City Watch will keep the King’s peace, my Lord Hand,” was Lord Arryn’s cold reply. He seemed to view it as an affront that his ability to maintain order was being questioned.

“It would ruin trade in King’s Landing, no ships will want to anchor here,” Monford Velaryon protested in a worried voice. Lord Monford had replaced Lucerys as Master of Ships, as the latter had been far too loyal to Rhaegar’s father. Still, the Velaryons were not easily set aside. “It would ruin us!”

Neither Grand Maester Marwyn nor Lord Commander Barristan seemed to have anything to add. Rhaegar knew that the former often frequented brothels himself, while the latter turned a blind eye to his Kingsguards’ own visits.

He sighed again and got up on his feet as he started to pace around his solar. In his heart he truly agreed with his sister, he didn’t like brothels and never frequented them himself, but sometimes you had to live in the world as it was, not as it should be. Now he just had to tell Dany that her latest assault on his Small Council had failed. He doubted she would be pleased.

A knock on the door and Ser Arthur stuck his head in with an amused smile. “Princess Daenerys is here, your Grace. She brought company though, your lady wife.”

Suddenly wary, he nodded to Arthur to let them both in. He wondered what she had cooked up now. Her persistence when she set her mind to something was truly impressive.

“Brother,” Dany’s cheerful voice greeted him as she followed Lya into the room.

“Dear husband,” his Queen said as she gave him a quick peck on the lips. She radiated displeasure, but it did not detract from her stunning beauty. Still, this was not going to be good. “We heard that you had an interesting discussion in the Small Council today.”

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s curious how word of the topics in our _secret_ meetings spread so quickly,” he added sourly.

“Indeed brother,” Dany agreed undeterred. “But we happened across a bird who sang us a most curious song, or how is it the Spider usually puts it?”

“I wasn’t aware that you had spent any time at all with Varys.”

“I usually don’t, but one cannot help but overhear some things if one’s ears are kept open.”

He studied her for a moment. In only a year his beautiful sister had gone from a little girl to this young and confident woman in front of him, one who would not back down from a fight with the most powerful men of the realm. She was already taking part of the game, but for her own purposes.

This time however Lyanna spoke up again, “Rhaegar… I have tried to broach the subject of the brothels with you for many years. They prey on weak and that is something I cannot abide.”

 “I know, dear,” he began as he steeled himself for a lengthy argument, “but it is most unwise to forbid brothels no matter my own feelings about them. The members of the Small Council raised valid concerns with such a move.”

“Because they themselves can hardly spend a night in their own beds!” Dany exploded.

“That’s enough, Dany.” She needed to rein in her emotions.

“So therefore we have to accept the idea of twelve and thirteen year old girls and boys being abused by the unscrupulous and the greedy? Rhaegar, Dany and I have known some of these children. All they want is a warm bed and enough to eat.”

He knew his wife wouldn’t let it go this time. And from there it became a matter of haggling. _No_ , the brothels would not be shut down. _Yes_ , stricter age restrictions would be enforced by the City Watch. _No_ , the Crown would not run these establishments in its own name. _Yes_ , taxation on brothels would increase to make it less lucrative and the money would go directly to Dany’s budget for the soup kitchens and orphanage.

Exhausted he found himself alone in his solar again. Oddly enough he felt invigorated by the debate, and the outcome did not trouble him as some of his other decisions could do. Between Lyanna and Dany he was not going to get away with doing nothing. Being a King was all fine and good, but keeping his own household at peace was not any less important.

He had a feeling that if Rhaenys and Jae had been here, they too would have sided with Lya and Dany. His eldest daughter was still visiting her mother in Dorne. He received word from her regularly, but missed her all the same. Rhaegar felt a pang of remorse at the thought of Elia. He could never love her, not like he loved Lya, but he had tried to do right by her.

It could not be helped that he had to take a second wife, but it had nevertheless shamed Elia in front of the entire realm. Relations with her brothers remained frosty, though thankfully they treated Jae right. They both felt that Rhaenys should have been the heir, but he knew that he needed a male heir. The prophecy made it of paramount importance.

There was a soft knock on the door. He looked up to see Arthur letting himself in. “How did it go? Rather good I take it? I heard less shouting than I expected” Arthur smiled in amusement.

Rhaegar shrugged, “You know how Lya is, Arthur. She’s a wolf. Once she snaps her jaws shut on you, she never lets go.”

Arthur laughed at that. “Ah, but it would be as unseemly of me to agree to that as it would be to disagree with my King.”

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow at that. He didn’t believe one word. Arthur had never refrained from teasing him or his family. He was a brother to Rhaegar and allowed far more freedom to speak his mind than anyone else.

“So have you made beggars of all the whores of King’s Landing then?” Arthur asked.

He hadn’t. It took him a moment to explain what had been agreed upon though.

Arthur burst out laughing. “I’m impressed. You will score some points with the Faith too by the way.” Now that had not occurred to anyone, but it was a reasonable assumption.

Sometime later their conversation turned to other matters. “Any news from the North?” Arthur asked.

The image of his son and heir flickered through his mind. “Yes, Jae wrote that he landed his first hit on Ser Jaime,” Rhaegar answered proudly. That was no small feat for someone as young as he. “Though he added that it was barely a touch and so far not repeated.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. “And what of the Stark boy? Robb?”

“From what I can tell they are as thick as thieves. In his letters it is always ‘Robb this’, ‘Robb that’. I know that Jae always wanted a brother and now I think he has found one.” Rhaegar added, feeling once again quite pleased with his decision to send Jae north, regardless of how much he missed him.

“That’s good. It may prove a good thing to have the Starks to rely on. And with them come the Tullys.” Arthur gave voice once again to a discussion they had shared many times over a cup of wine. The realm seemed at peace, but Rhaegar knew that their position was not as strong as it seemed. They always needed to shore up alliances.

His own succession had been fraught with danger; the threat of rebellion hung over his head when he finally rid the realm of his father’s madness. A familiar pang of regret made itself known at the thoughts of his father. _He wasn’t always mad_ , he thought. _Once he had loved me_.

His father had arrogantly taken Tywin’s heir from him, which fuelled resentment of the Iron Throne. It was not soon forgotten, but Rhaegar had no intention of relinquishing Jaime back to Tywin. His presence assured them of quiet relations with the Westerlands.

Assigning Jaime to Jae had been a stroke of unintended genius. He never knew it would lead to the kind of bond they now appeared to share, but it assured him of Jaime’s, and therefore the Lannisters’, continued loyalty. Jaime was also still relatively young and needed more than to merely guard the Red Keep.

“And what of this business with the direwolves? If you allow your son to bring this _Ghost_ back it will further alienate some of those who believe he is more wolf than dragon. Winter was forced to stay in Winterfell despite your lady wife’s pleas.”

Rhaegar sighed at that. That was still a sore point in an otherwise happy marriage. He knew that Lya dreamed of _Winter_ almost every night. She would tell him in the most vivid detail how Winter had given birth to a large litter, before word reached them from Winterfell. Sometimes she would reassure him that Jae was truly happy with his kin in the North, that she could see him smiling and laughing more than he ever did at King’s Landing.

“I haven’t reached a decision on it yet. Perhaps Ghost will be Jae’s eyes in the North, maybe he needs to come south with him to provide additional protection. The beast will grow up to be the size of a pony. Not a single knight would take on such a beast lightly.”

He did not know how Lyanna was so certain about what she saw, but far too often her dreams had proved startlingly accurate. The Starks had a connection to their wolves that reminded him of what he read about wargs. Now that was a thought he only gave voice to in front of Arthur. Wargs had a bad reputation in the North, while in the South few had even heard of them.

Still, to Rhaegar it was further evidence that it had been a great decision to mix his line with that of the ancient Kings of Winter. _Ice and fire indeed_. It made him wonder if such ability could transfer over to the Targaryen bonds with their dragons. Given how well the Starks controlled their ferocious beasts, this might truly be a game-changer. And his son would be the catalyst.

It was all hypothetical though, although after Jae had received a dragon egg it suddenly felt less so. Not that anyone knew how to hatch the egg, but surely the return of direwolves hinted at the future return of dragons as magic awakened across the land. Such thoughts were often shared with Maester Aemon, as well as Grand Maester Marwyn, and he felt lucky to partake of their wisdom on these matters.

He shuddered at the thought of keeping Pycelle around. He had been completely in Tywin’s pocket and one of Rhaegar’s first moves was to find an excuse to rid himself of the old stuttering lecher. Charges of espionage had seen to the removal of Pycelle’s head, although none had given voice to the name of Pycelle’s master.

It was getting really late and they both needed their rest. As they left Arthur turned to him, “Shall I still expect you on the training grounds at dawn, your grace?”

“Aye,” said Rhaegar in an exaggerated northern accent which made Arthur chuckle. “My son will soon outdo me in swordplay and I don’t want to lose his respect completely when he returns.”

When he entered his chambers he found Lyanna already asleep under the covers. As so often he stopped at the sight of her in the faint moonlight. Her long dark-brown curls wore spread out over her pillow. She was beautiful. Ever since she had started to share his bed he had felt a level of peace andcontentment that he never knew he lacked. Sleep came easily; his dreams less troubled. She was a wolf who belonged to him alone.

* * *

**Lyanna**

_She was running in the Wolfswood, although the name seemed foreign to her somehow. The scent of her pack filled her nostrils, intertwined with the many and varied scents of the forest. Trees, brush, old trails of prey; they all mixed and gave her a sense of belonging._

_Her pack mates were out of sight, but she could feel them all around her. Shadow, who leapt with great strides ahead of her, had picked up the scent of a deer and howled in excitement. Her young ones answered with howls of their own and thus the hunt was on._

_Excitement filled her. The thrill of the hunt; the anticipation of the taste of warm blood on her tongue. This was the true essence of life, to hunt with your pack._

_She ran swiftly, but not straight after the Alpha of their pack. She knew these woods well. She knew that the deer would have to veer north eventually to circle round the hill ahead of them. She meant to cut their prey off while Shadow gave chase from behind. Now it was just a question who would reach it first. She increased the pace so much it was as if she flew across the ground._

_While Mist was not far behind her; Grey Wind, Shade and Raven had veered off after having picked up the scent of another deer. Suddenly she felt her frustration echoed by that of Shadow. Before she had even noticed, Ghost had unexpectedly leapt out of nowhere and snapped his jaws around the neck of the deer. She salivated at the taste of blood he shared with her._

_It didn’t make sense for her to feel ill at ease with one of her pack mates; with one of her own cubs. But there was something different about Ghost that separated him from the others and it was not just his unnatural but deadly silence. For once, she couldn’t always sense his presence._

_Before long both she and Shadow reached Ghost as he stood triumphantly over his prey. He hadn’t begun to eat yet, but his maw was red with blood, matching his eyes that now watched her intently. He made no move, but she sensed the invitation well enough and both she and Shadow dug into the downed deer, making short work of it as they ripped it to pieces. Ghost only took one large piece of flesh for himself before he silently leapt away._

_She wondered if Shadow could sense the coming challenge from Ghost just as well as she did. Granted, there was no real sign of it yet, but she could still feel it. It wouldn’t be long, she knew, before they would all follow Ghost’s lead. Somehow that felt right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support and encouragement. Had to write another chapter just because it made me so happy. Hope you enjoyed it! :)
> 
> Update: thanks to Jujux who pointed out that I had already made Lord Arryn my Master of Laws, not Stannis. I "fixed" it now, but despite my small changes it "worked" better with Stannis as Dany's unexpected champion in the Small Council. Sorry!


	6. First Blood

**Brandon**

The sun had already sunk low, barely hovering above the horizon, as they finally stopped for the day. If Brandon turned around he could still see the last stretch of the Long Lake behind them, the evening sun’s last rays shimmering on the cold, dark water. On every other side of them, only seemingly endless dark woods could be seen.

As soon as they dismounted, the direwolves took off in what he gathered was an eager pursuit of their own dinner. Shadow had been his companion for a long time now, and Brandon had developed an uncanny ability to sense where his wolf was, as well as what he wanted.

A small party had ridden out of Winterfell, with only a dozen Stark men-at-arms and no servants. Brandon signaled to the men to raise their tents and get a fire started. While riding when the sun was up was comfortable enough, it was definitely quite chilly at night.

 _Even in the summer_.

He spotted his nephew Prince Jaehaerys – _by the Gods, his name was a mouthful_ – already seeing to Ser Jaime’s and his own horses; leading them away to be rubbed down with straw, fed some oats and watered. The Prince took his duties as squire quite seriously, despite vastly outranking his knight.

There was honor in that; to serve even though you were born to rule. Not once did he learn of any complaints. While Robb was no squire, on this trip he too had been told to care for his own horse.

Word had been sent to the Wall ahead of them. While they had left before an answer could be sent, Brandon knew that they would be received well. _It was after all hardly every day the Heir to Winterfell and the Heir to the Iron Throne together visited the Wall._ He snorted at the thought, it had never happened to his knowledge. Change was in the air, for the north, and for his family.

They brought with them a pair of volunteers for the Night’s Watch, and an unfortunate sod who had taken things too far when he had slain a fellow in a drunken brawl. He had pleaded for a lesser punishment due to their heavy intake of strong ale, but their northern sense of justice demanded satisfaction and Brandon would uphold the law like his forefathers before him; either swear the oaths of the Night’s watch or forego his head.

If things were headed in the direction it seemed, the Night’s Watch could make good use of both volunteers and those who had run afoul of the law. It had gnawed on him for the past few moons. Things had begun to stir in the far north, with an uncommon number of deserters from the Wall and wild tales of what lay beyond it. But what the future held in store, Brandon couldn’t even begin to guess.

He adjusted the heavy wolf pelt around his neck and sat down on a blanket next to the fire. It was important to not sit directly on the cold ground if it could be avoided. The frostbitten grass would eventually soak through his breeches as it melted underneath. Drying your clothes on the road was not easily done.

With a nod of thanks to one of the men he gratefully accepted a mug of ale from a recently opened keg. It was their last remaining keg before Castle Black and they were going to have to endure some dry nights before reaching the Wall. In truth he was surprised that what few kegs they had, had lasted a whole fortnight.

As he savored the taste of the strong, dark and bitter brew, so cherished in the north, he remembered the good times when he in his youth had gone riding in the Rills. The main difference between then and now was that as a ward of House Dustin, he had been a carefree young man.

 _Too carefree_ , he remembered with some shame. _Father had not been most pleased_ , but now Lord Stark had a dutiful good-daughter and acting Lady of Winterfell, and three beautiful granddaughters as a result.

Now he felt the weight of the whole north upon his shoulders. His Lord Father was regretfully not long for this world but while he wasn’t yet the Warden of the North, he held the position in all but name. He had been groomed for it his entire life; endless lessons with Maesters and his Lord Father, a steady increase of his duties until there was little left for father to do.

Yet sometimes he felt that Ned would have made a better Lord of Winterfell. He always let his deep sense of honor guide him, whereas Brandon more often than not let his temper run unchecked. _The wolf blood_ , as they called it.

He regretfully took his last sip of ale and stared longingly at the pair of chickens that were slowly cooked on the fire. The laws of man saw fit to make the firstborn heir, while the second often inherited nothing, without regards to the relative capabilities of the two. Such were the ways of the world.

In the far distance he could hear the wolves howl and he knew that they had already spotted prey. These woods were full of them.

“A penny for your thought, Uncle,” Brandon heard Robb say. “Or are they perhaps worth a silver stag? Surely not a dragon.” He hadn’t even noticed his nephew sitting down on the other side of the fire. “It’s unlike you to be this quiet and serious,” Robb added as if in explanation.

His nephew had grown up quickly this past year and little of the boy he remembered remained. Spending time with Jae, and even with Jaime, had undoubtedly been good for him.

“Aye,” he said, pausing as he considered for a moment how to share his growing ill ease with his heir, while not placing undue burden upon the youth. “I was just trying to make sense of the little we know,” he finally said but upon seeing Robb’s confused look, quickly continued. “The wildlings lad, and the desertions. These matters are concerning and I am most eager to find out more once we reach Castle Black.”

Robb nodded in understanding. “Winter is not yet upon us, but we will be prepared. We always are,” Robb stated with the full conviction of youth in his voice.

“Would that it was that simple, lad,” Brandon answered quietly with a small smile on his lips. He stroked the long beard on his chin as he thought on how to best explain it to the boy.

“We do not say that _winter is coming_ only in order to gather our harvests and prepare our castles and holdfasts for the coming change of the seasons.”

“Yes,” he forestalled the inevitable protest Robb looked to be gearing up for, “we mean all that too, but there is also recognition that we are never truly fully prepared. We also have to consider every eventuality, however remote it may seem, and plan ahead with eyes as open as possible.”

“This is what your grandfather did when he ordered Moat Cailin rebuilt, this is what he meant when he decided that all Starks are to remain in the north for the coming winter.”

He knew that Robb was listening to him carefully and decided to teach the same lesson he had already taught his daughter Lyarra.

“Perhaps you might think that your grandfather was wrong when he spent our hard-earned coin on rebuilding Moat Cailin; there has not been a war in the south for six decades and there is none on the horizon even now. The coin could have been better spent on a thousand other things.”

He continued, “Perhaps we shall outlast this winter without anything unusual happening. It is said that the coming winter will be long and hard, but we have endured long and hard winters for thousands of years.”

Robb nodded hesitantly at that. “And _was_ grandfather wrong, uncle?” he asked uncertainly, as if the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Aye, he was,” Brandon said without any hesitation of his own.

But at Robb’s surprised look he added, “Yet at the same time he wasn’t. He weighed the possibilities and decided not his course of action based solely on the likelihood of war breaking out that would spill over to the north.”

“Lord Stark prepared for _winter_ ; for a perhaps remote but potentially calamitous possibility, when he rebuilt the Moat. And he prepares now, by trying to keep the pack together and strengthen our position in the north.”

He paused for a moment to let the words sink in before he expanded the lesson.

“When your uncle Benjen swore the oaths of the Night’s Watch, he did it to prepare for winter. A wall is only as strong as the men who stand behind it, thus we always try to send a Stark to man the Wall. Not because we run out of keeps and holdfasts, or honorable household positions, for second and third sons. Also when we make certain to always leave a Stark in Winterfell, we prepare for winter.”

Although used to it by now, the sudden reappearance of the direwolves, with bloody maws and dragging the remains of a deer, never failed to spook the sentries. Neither Brandon’s nor Robb’s face revealed any hint of surprise however, and Brandon continued his lesson without missing a beat.

“When we uphold honor and justice, we prepare for winter. You could even say that the two of us – and Prince Jaehaerys as well for he has our blood – prepare for winter right now by traveling to the Wall, with only rumor and hearsay to go by. We ride north, when we really ought to ride for White Harbor to greet the queen and your other cousins. We do all of this because we have learned from our history and we _know_ that _winter is coming_.”

“In the end it’s a simple lesson, but it means so very much,” he finally concluded.

When he looked into Robb’s eyes he saw that his words had been met with understanding. Brandon had naturally wanted a son of his own, like any man, but was nevertheless pleased with his heir and future good-son.

His younger brother’s firstborn was a solid lad, with a good head on his shoulders, and Brandon had no doubt that he would one day make a good Lord of Winterfell.

If you scratched his Tully surface, there was no trout within, only a wolf.

* * *

**Jaehaerys**

“To me, Ghost!” Jae shouted happily as he spurred his black courser on once again. It had been a gift from Uncle Brandon on his last name day. As he urged _Wanderer_ to run even faster he was glad to be rid of the gray palfrey that had barely kept up on the road to Moat Cailin a year earlier. “Come on!” he shouted back at the direwolf who seemed only mildly interested in this race.

Just ahead of him, Robb was urging his own horse on, closely followed by Grey Wind, but had only the advantage of about a dozen paces on Jae. Slowly but surely Jae was catching up to his cousin. He ignored the shouts from behind him, and knew that Ser Jaime would not be best pleased with the wild chase.

They had left the deep forest behind them and had arrived at the New Gift the day before. Here there was ample space to break the monotony of travel by letting the horses stretch out a little. Robb and Jae couldn’t ride too far, as to not tire their horses needlessly, but a few races here and there wouldn’t hurt.

A few moments later they reached the small grove that marked the end of their current race. Jae had gained on Robb, but still came up a few paces short. “You cheated!” he shouted at Robb, but still laughing in exhilaration which belied the seriousness of his accusation.

“How is it my fault that you weren’t ready?” Robb laughed back, his short auburn hair a sharp and convenient contrast to Jae’s long curls that were now annoyingly getting into his eyes after the headband had slipped out of place.

“How was I supposed to know there was something to be ready _for_?” he argued just for the sake of it, still catching his breath. Their rivalry was fun and playful, and not at all serious.

Jae turned around towards the sound of Ser Jaime still shouting behind them. _What was the man’s problem?_ He wondered. Then he saw Jaime spurring his horse on as he waved his hand as if to point to the other side of the grove. Jae would later recall that everything suddenly seemed to happen at once.

Turning around he spotted six or seven overly large men dressed in boiled leather and pelts, and armed with axes, spears and bows. They were rapidly descending upon them, only twenty or thirty paces away. Frozen in shock he first didn’t seem to react at all; his limbs refused to move. In the corner of his eye he saw that Robb seemed as stunned as he was.

In the end it was Ghost and Grey Wind who brought them out of their stupor. With a low growl Grey Wind placed himself between Robb and the rapidly approaching men. Ghost on the other hand was as silent as always, but with bared fangs and red eyes he crouched down in front of Jae, ready to spring into action.

The sudden appearance of the direwolves caused the men to hesitate slightly, but they soon gathered their courage and closed the final paces between them. Ghost sprung first and jumped on one of the axe-wielding men in deadly ferociousness.

Ghost’s jaws went for the man’s throat, but failed to reach it as the man’s companion stabbed at Ghost with his spear. Although he in turn failed to seriously hurt Ghost, he still managed to push the direwolf away.

Grey Wind’s sharp claws tore at another man’s face, and judging by the loud, painful cries, the man was likely one eye short.

In the meanwhile, both Jae and Robb had finally managed to draw their swords and swung them threateningly, as if to trying to keep the unexpected enemies at bay. When Ghost jumped again, and this time managed to bring the axe-wielding enemy down as he went for the throat once more, the other man came straight at Jae who found himself trying desperately to ward off a sharp spear.

He was unused to the swift spear attack and it took him a moment to find his balance on top of Wanderer. The shock at finding himself in a fight for his life didn’t help and it was only due to quick reflexes that he avoided being skewered by the strange spear.

He received a cut to his left arm that drew blood and burned hotter than fire. Desperately he parried and warded off the sharp spearhead, but was unable to effectively launch a counter attack.

In the end Jae didn’t know who was more surprised, his enemy or he, when suddenly he found his sword slicing through the enemy’s spear and cutting it in two. The large, bearded man in front of him took one split second to stare dumbly at his broken spear, but that was all it took for Jae to open up his throat with one swift slash.

It seemed unreal to see his sword cut through the man’s throat and watch as his lifeblood seeped out on the grassy ground in front of him. He was vaguely aware of Jaime and the Stark men-at-arms catching up with them and quickly putting down the remaining enemies.

He saw Robb staring stupidly at his own bloody sword, as he stood next to Grey Wind over another fallen enemy. _Why was Robb not mounted? Where was his horse?_

 _Wildlings_ , his mind finally caught up with what had just happened. It all made sense; the bronze spears, the crude axes and their paltry clothes.

 _They had just fought wildlings south of the Wall_. He had heard of their raids, but never imagined he would see one, much less a whole group of them, on their journey north.

 _“What in the seven hells was that?!”_ Jaime shouted angrily with his sword in hand, dripping with newly spilt blood. _“What possessed you to ride away like that without even a hint of warning?!”_ The knight was fuming. Jae couldn’t recall a single time that Jaime had been even nearly this angry. _“Why the fuck didn’t you try to escape?!”_

“We never imagined… We didn’t think…” he fumbled for words in his attempt to explain, but was immediately cut off by his equally mad uncle.

 _“Are you daft, boys?”_ Brandon shouted. _“Did you think we brought guards with us just to have something pretty to look at?!”_

“I…” he tried once more. _“- didn’t fucking use your head!”_ Brandon burst out, spittle flying everywhere.

Even Shadow had come to stare Ghost and Grey Wind down, as if to make his disapproval abundantly clear. Grey Wind let out a small, whining sound, but Ghost’s red eyes met green, disapproving eyes, as he stared back impassively, making no sign of backing down.

His wolf’s lack of reaction strengthened his own resolve and he turned back towards the still fuming men.

“Aye, we made a stupid mistake. But both of you should remember who you’re talking to. I _will_ _not_ be shouted at like that. I’m not a small boy, but _the Prince of fucking Dragonstone!”_

_Ok, he was upset now, but mostly from the shock of the situation than anything else._

“Prince you may be, but I see only green boys before me,” Brandon said angrily, but at least he wasn’t shouting anymore.

“Remember your place, Lord Brandon!” Jae said firmly in a low and dangerous voice, having collected himself somewhat.

“We may be green, but it would seem we are somewhat less so now than we were even an hour ago. _I admit_ we fucked up, but we pulled through and that’s what matters.” He pointed at his still bloody sword, and at Robb who seemed to have recovered a bit from his own shock.

“Thank the gods for the direwolves,” he then added more softly.

_Without them we would have been utterly fucked._

* * *

**Lyanna**

“Are we there yet?” came Shaena’s small voice, repeating the very question that had begun to grate on Lyanna’s nerves. Coupled with the rolling motion of the sea which made her nauseous, it was not easy to keep her composure.

She took a deep breath. “No, little cub, we still have a long ways to sail. If the gods are good, we will arrive at White Harbor within a fortnight.”

They had left King’s Landing a few days ago and were still sailing in Blackwater Bay, but for someone who had never traveled anywhere outside the city before, the distance was hard to comprehend.

Lyanna sat with her daughters in the spacious and comfortable royal cabin of _Queen Rhaella_ , one of the three triple-decked war galleys of the Royal fleet. During the first day her daughters had been beyond excited to set sail for the north, but now excitement had turned to boredom and Lyanna struggled with finding ways to keep them entertained.

“Is Jae going to meet us there, mother?” Visenya asked hopefully.

“I’m afraid not. I believe your brother will still be returning from the Wall when we reach White Harbor. But worry not, sweetheart; he will meet us in Winterfell with grandfather and your uncles.”

“Where’s the Wall? Is it far? Can we go?” Shaena had just turned seven years old and there was no end to her questions. But Lyanna did her best at being patient with her daughter’s inquisitive nature.

“The Wall is too far away, sweetling. It would take weeks to get there and I’m afraid we must remain in Winterfell. Your grandfather is not well.”

“Oh.” Shaena chewed on a silvery lock of hair as she looked like she was pondering the new information. Sometimes Lyanna still had difficulty comprehending that these stunningly pretty Targaryen princesses were her own daughters.

She herself had been complimented for her beauty ever since her body grew enough to match her long face. But next to the Targaryens she often felt like something her wolf had dragged in.

“Can I have a direwolf, mother?” nine year old Visenya asked wistfully.

“Me too!” Shaena hurriedly shouted, probably trying to make sure that she wouldn’t be overlooked in the upcoming distribution of direwolf pups.

“Daughters, you are princesses in King’s Landing. The wolves are creatures of the north. The south is no true place for a wolf and even if you had one, it could not come with us back home.”

Indeed, it had not surprised Lyanna that there were no wolf pups for her daughters. They did not have much of Lyanna or the north in them, in neither appearance nor behavior. Only their eyes were gray like hers, but with subtle hints of purple if you looked close enough.

“But I want one,” pouted Shaena as she chewed once more on a lock of hair. Lyanna’s fingers itched to go find a pin to hold Shaena’s hair up and away from her face. She would ruin her hair like that.

“Why did Jae get one then? Isn’t he coming home to King’s Landing too?” Visenya asked suspiciously. She lately had an uncanny ability to point out logical flaws in her mother’s reasoning.

Sometimes Lyanna felt wholly inadequate as a mother. _What did she know about raising children, much less princesses?_ She had been but a child herself when her mother passed. The feeling of inadequacy had subsided somewhat when Jae had grown older. He was a boy and the heir, and much of his upbringing would be shaped by men, not the least by his father.

But she supposed that her daughters had not only herself, but also their grandmother who was a true lady, their sister Rhaenys, aunt Dany and last but not least, _that bloody septa!_

She almost cursed the last part in her mind. The bloody woman was more likely than not to ruin her daughters than to teach them anything useful. Lyanna did what she could to prevent too much nonsense from influencing her daughters. Rhaegar too did what he could, but he was often far too busy from really being involved in shaping their lives.

“Jae isn’t coming home for at least another year, I think. But your father has not yet made his final decision on the matter.” She deflected the first question by focusing on the second. But she should have realized it was a fool’s hope that Visenya wouldn’t notice.

“And will Ghost come with him when he does?” Visenya asked, frowning slightly.

“I think not, dearest. Even Winter remains behind at Winterfell, and I guess that Ghost will remain in the north as well.” Probably not if Jae got his wish. He could be more stubborn and willful than even she was herself.

Yet he was all she could have hoped for in a son; a sharp mind, capable, a natural rider and a budging prodigy at sword fighting. He had a good heart too; always looking out for his sisters, always a warm smile and a kind word to Queen Elia. He was the pride of the royal family; everything _anyone_ could wish for in a future king.

Growing up she had never dreamed of being the queen of the seven kingdoms. When her father had told her that the King desired her hand in marriage she had first been shocked, but then been convinced that it was a poor jest.

She had only met Rhaegar once, when he was still the Silver Prince and had stopped by Winterfell on his way from the Wall. She had been sure that her sharp tongue and unladylike behavior would be found off-putting by the handsome Prince. _No, she had been meant for a northern lord._ Jorah Mormont, perhaps.

 _A_ queen, she corrected herself. While she and Elia shared the title, in her mind the real queen was still the sweet Queen-Mother Rhaella. Her wonderful good-mother had taken a frightened and uncertain Lyanna under her wing, as well as done her best to smooth things over with poor Elia.

It had taken a while, but slowly Lyanna had formed a tentative bond of sorts with Elia. It was nearly dying in childbirth with Jae that had caused their friendship to blossom. _Shared experiences had a strange way of doing that_ , she mused.

With Rhaella and Elia she could discuss her deepest fears, mourn in the losses of their miscarriages and the infants who died. The gods had truly been cruel to house Targaryen. Where Rhaella had lost far too many children, Elia had lost Aegon after almost a year.

Lyanna herself had lost her second child; a boy the Grand Maester had said, although the little prince was not yet fully formed, and dead in the womb. _Daeron_ , she had named him in her heart.

She had been inconsolable and Rhaegar had been at a loss for how to handle it in his own grief, but Rhaella and Elia had held her as she cried and wiped her tears. They both knew exceedingly well what she had gone through. _Far too well_ , she thought mournfully.

“Come, daughters,” she said as she got up on her feet. “It will do us no good to just idly sit around in here. Let’s go outside and see if we can spot some other ships. Then I want to see if you can tell me what banners they fly.” They both followed her eagerly.

* * *

**Robb**

They had ridden mostly in subdued silence since the events a few days ago. It suited Robb well as he doubled up with Jae after his own horse had been grievously wounded in the fight and had to be put down.

He still wasn’t sure how to feel about the life he had taken and the empty dead eyes that had looked at him accusingly. He had mostly come to terms with it, but sometimes the wildling’s face still haunted him at night.

Uncle Brandon was still short with them although his anger had subsided. Their uncle had confessed that he had been afraid of suddenly losing both his own heir and the Crown Prince in one go, something for which he would never forgive himself.

Trees were sparse and the winds had picked up speed out here in the open. Robb did his best to stay warm, but wasn’t nearly as bothered by the cold as Ser Jaime. The Southron knight had stopped shaving once they left for the Wall, to help keep his face warm he said, and now sported a fairly impressive beard.

Robb’s own _peach fuss_ , as Jaime had teasingly called it, was nothing much by comparison. He had never seen a peach, but instinctively understood that it wasn’t a compliment and simply told the knight to bugger off.

Jae’s darker hair was slightly more visible on his face, but neither had the Prince much to brag about. Certainly not here in the north where a full beard was more common than not.

The immense Wall still loomed large on the horizon. It was mindboggling to see this great structure from so many leagues away. It seemed to stretch from one end of the earth to the other. Every step brought them closer; every step made the Wall look even more impossibly big.

His awe was shared by everyone, including by the earlier so disdainful Jaime, whom he often found gazing at the Wall in seeming disbelief.

***

A couple of days later finally saw them enter the courtyard of Castle Black. They had left Mole’s Town behind them earlier in the day, but Robb was unsure if _town_ was really the proper word for it.

It was a sad collection of wooden houses, with a smithy and stable clearly indicated by large signs. He pointed that out, but Brandon answered that much of the town was underground, perhaps up to three quarters of it.

Black brothers scurried around in the courtyard of Castle Black, each carrying out his duties. But they all stopped dead in their tracks when they spotted the Direwolf and Dragon banners. Or perhaps it was the direwolves that gave them pause, though Robb figured that they should be used to it by now given the long presence of Benjen’s wolf.

Benjen’s immense wolf had been part of Shadow’s and Winter’s pack. Some of the eldest members had already died, but these three were the youngest and remained to this day. No one was sure how long a direwolf lived, but the fully grown direwolves must be around seventeen by now.

Brandon was the first to dismount and a stable boy hurried to take care of his horse, while another went to Jae who politely declined. Robb joined Jae in seeing to his and Jaime’s horses and with their combined efforts they were able to rejoin their group out in the courtyard.

The Lord Commander Jeor Mormont had come out and now stood and chatted with Uncle Brandon. “Ah the dutiful squires return!” the Old Bear bellowed warmly as he spotted them.

“Well met, my lord,” was Jae’s simple reply that Robb immediately mimicked.

“My prince, my lord,” the Lord Commander remembered his manners. “Please, come join us. The midday meal will be served soon and you must be thirsty.”

_Sweeter words had rarely been spoken._

An hour later Robb decided that he was decidedly not thirsty anymore. The dark ale tasted like horse piss. They sat at the Lord Commander’s private dining table, joined by the Lord Steward, Bowen Marsh, and the senior rangers Ser Jarman Buckwell and Qorin Halfhand.

Joining them too was Maester Aemon, whose unseeing eyes had teared up upon greeting his great-great nephew, or however many greats were in there. He was an exceedingly old man, but he seemed very kind and both Jae and Robb had immediately taken a liking to him.

Robb felt a little out of place as he was seated with older men, seasoned commanders and warriors every one of them.

“We are expecting your brother Benjen any day now,” Lord Mormon told Brandon with a heavy sigh. “But then again, he might not reappear for yet another week or two. Most of the comings and goings of my rangers are hard to predict, and he most of all.”

Brandon nodded at that. “I understand, but we were naturally hoping to see my brother. Especially Prince Jaehaerys who has yet to meet him.” All eyes but Maester Aemon’s turned around to face Jae who had thus far sat and listened quietly, just like Robb.

“I’m not troubled by my uncle’s absence and I’m sure he will somehow sense our presence here and do what he can to come back,” Jae said cryptically. At some of the men’s questioning looks, he added smilingly, “Starks have a sixth sense for each other.”

The men did not appear to want to contradict the prince, but Robb could tell that some were definitely skeptical of such outlandish claims, while others such as Maester Aemon seemed to be thinking otherwise.

_Who really knew what these Starks were capable of, who bonded with wild direwolves, had built this incredibly wall thousands of years ago and yet were still around to rule the north?_

“We can only hope for the best,” said Brandon after a moment’s silence. “Now on to other matters. These wildlings, is there any truth to the rumors that they are bandying together?”

“Aye,” Qorin Halfhand answered gruffly. “Captured another wildling last week, we did. Sang us a fine song of a new _King-Beyond-the-Wall_ , he did.”

This was bad news Robb knew. He didn’t need to look at Brandon’s concerned face to understand the implications of this piece of news. Stark history had seen several attempts by self-styled Kings-Beyond-the-Wall to force their way south, but more often than not ending up trampled under the hooves of the combined might of the north. Still, the price in blood had been steep.

“It’s another reason to we have been pleading with the lords of the seven kingdoms for new recruits and more supplies,” Mormont said. “Please see what you can do to convince your good-brother the King to take up our cause.”

The Lord Commander then turned to Jae with the same request, “And you, my prince. Please let your father know that we cannot expect to hold against a combined attack by wildlings for very long at all.”

Brandon nodded thoughtfully as Jae said that he would do as asked.

Mormont then turned to Jaime who had listened to their conversation with a somewhat bored look. “And can you speak with your lord father, Ser Jaime?”

Jaime merely chuckled in response, but held up his hands to forestall any angry comments.

“I can, I assure you. But I’m afraid that it will do no good. My Lord Father does not listen to me, and neither is he inclined to believe that wildlings are any concern of his. His opinion of course, not one I necessarily share.”

His uncle then seemed want to change track, but looked like he hesitated for a moment before he asked, “And what about the other… rumors? We’ve heard strange tales from captured wildlings and deserted former brothers. What can you tell us about it?”

“Little and less,” the Lord Commander snorted. “We have heard the same tales, but have found nothing to confirm such unlikely claims.” His eyes turned briefly towards the direwolves who had made themselves comfortable in one of the corners of the room.

“Doubtless they were spineless traitors who made up excuses to save their own skins,” Ser Mallister spat.

Robb thought that he didn’t seem to be a man with much patience for unfounded rumors, but preferred to believe in what was readily known. _I wonder if that’s a mistake, when winter is coming_ , he mused as he recalled Brandon’s lesson from earlier in their travel.

Brandon sighed and finally said, “Perhaps Benjen will know more. Let’s turn to lighter topics, our journey has been long and we could do with less troubled conversation tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed yet another chapter. If you thought that Jae didn’t seem all that impressive in the fight, please remember that it was his first time in a fight for his life and he was attacked unawares in a situation he had no experience with, i.e. sitting on his horse and fighting off a spear.
> 
> Another thing is that I have really felt inspired these last few days, with three chapters up in a short amount of time. Don’t count on it to last. Real life tends to come in between and soon we have holidays coming up again.
> 
> Lastly, while I really appreciate encouraging comments, I would also appreciate feedback on everything from writing style, pacing and formatting. If something bothers you, please let me know. I didn’t enable comment moderation in order to avoid criticism, just to get rid of trolls.


	7. The Wall

**Jaehaerys**

In the morning after their arrival, Jae woke up early as was his habit. The sun had not yet appeared over the horizon and the partly clouded sky was painted in beautiful shades of bronze and yellow. After seeing to his duties as Jaime’s squire, Jae took a moment to observe the new recruits of the Night’s Watch on the training grounds. They had just gathered to commence their training on the frozen ground. Coarse sand had been spread out to provide some traction on the otherwise slippery surface.

From what he’d been told they were farmers’ sons who had fallen on hard times, orphans driven to thievery, drunkards, disgraced guards and soldiers; all kinds of people with either rotten luck in life, or poor decision-making skills.

All of these were mixed with the rare volunteer who saw no other place for himself in life than by taking the black; perhaps a third son like Ser Waymar Royce to whom he had been briefly introduced the day before, or some nameless bastard with nowhere else to go.

Whatever their background, they all stood together now as equals of sorts. That was the good part, Jae supposed as he watched them line up for drills now that the sun had finally revealed itself. The less pleasant part was that most of them were there on pain of death. While for some of them the Night’s Watch meant a fresh start; a chance to gain some honor in this life. Others were probably irredeemable; indeed the dregs of the seven kingdoms.

Many of them sported deep looks of concentration as they tried to learn the art of sword fighting. Jae watched as they went through some basic foot drills in the cold morning. It was obvious that some of them had never done anything like it before; barely able to remain standing upright as they practiced their footwork. He felt some pity for the master-at-arms of the Night’s Watch, one Ser Endrew. A Tarth, if he recalled correctly.

“Watch your back foot, I keep telling ya. That’s right, good. _No!_ You cannot move quickly unless you keep them knees a little bent. _Seven hells, not so stiff!_ Makes you look like you’ve got a sword shoved up your bunghole. Now, watch me!” The words were sometimes harsh, but no harsher than Jae had heard many times before. In fact, the master-at-arms seemed to instruct with the patience of a septon, though interlaced with a good dose of frustration given what he had to work with.

Meanwhile, a couple of men stood on the sidelines and laughed at the pitiful efforts of their untrained soon-to-be brothers. _Fools_ , Jae thought. _How can they stand together as brothers if they are so openly disdainful of each other?_

Ghost, who had followed Jae faithfully this morning, was the first to turn around and spot Grey Wind and Shadow, and by his sudden movement announced their presence to Jae.

“It’s a pitiful sight, is it not?” Robb remarked casually as he and Uncle Brandon joined him as he stood there watching the drills. Brandon yawned slightly without bothering to cover his mouth with his hand, showing that he had yet to shake off last night’s sleep. Jae was almost surprised to see him up this early as they had been on the road for weeks and they all had longed for the beds the Night’s Watch had provided them with, however hard and simple.

He nodded to Robb in response, but said nothing.

“Ser Jaime isn’t up yet?” his uncle asked.

“Still sleeping. He stood guard outside my door all night.  The Watch holds plenty of people sentenced here by my father, and Jaime thinks some of them might still carry a grudge.” He shrugged, as if it to signal that it was of no consequence.

Brandon grunted something inaudible at that.

“You have Ghost though. I can’t see what better guard you could possibly have,” Robb added as he idly stroked his own Grey Wind over the ears. The direwolf stood there and endured his administrations patiently; his open mouth revealed a large, wet tongue perched between his sharp predator teeth. Shadow still towered over Ghost and Grey Wind, but the differences were noticeably smaller than they were even when they had left Winterfell. Roaming the lands of the north seemed to do them a lot of good.

Jae nodded at that as he threw Ghost a fond look. The white direwolf’s red eyes looked almost amused when they met his, but Jae was sure he must have imagined it. “Aye, and the Old Gods are watching me through Ghost’s eyes so I’m perfectly safe. At least if you were to ask grandfather,” he replied with a smirk.

Brandon laughed softly at that, but Robb looked like he first was going to protest, yet thought better of it. Robb had been more open to Lord Stark’s ideas than the rest of them. Jae preferred to joke and laugh at these things, regardless of whether they were true. _Wasn’t it enough to be this Prince who was promised that I have to be some kind of_ _chosen one of the Old Gods too?_ , he thought sourly.

“How about we go see the top of the Wall, lads?” Brandon asked. “Trust me, there’s nothing quite like it.” They quickly agreed and began to make their way to the cage that would lift them all up hundreds of feet above the ground, with their direwolves in tow.

Jae felt strangely drawn to the Wall and what lay beyond. It tugged at him in a manner that he didn’t fully understand; with subtle threads that he could barely perceive, but could not shake off either. It was like something that he could only get a glimpse of in the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look straight at it, it immediately vanishes. The thought filled him with a strange sense of foreboding.

But all thoughts fled as they finally reached the top of the Wall. The sight Jae beheld took his breath away. Down below he could see the vast lands where his father’s dominion well and truly ended; where anarchy and lawlessness held sway. They didn’t look remarkably different from what lay behind them, although not too far away from the Wall he saw deep, thick and dark forests that appeared to stretch out endlessly ahead of them.

“It’s quite something, eh?” Brandon spoke softly, as if raising his voice too much would ruin the moment.

 _“By the Gods,”_ Robb whispered in agreement. He grabbed on to Jae as if to steady himself even though they were several paces away from the edge. Jae felt no such need; heights had never bothered him at all.

“Can’t wait to tell Dany about it,” he finally said absentmindedly. “And my sisters too, of course,” he hastily added.

Brandon gave him a knowing look and he felt his cheeks burn at the slip of his tongue. He wasn’t even sure why he had said it and in truth he preferred to not think too hard on it. Although he couldn’t prevent the image of her long silver hair, or soft purple eyes from appearing before his inner eye. Or the way she laughed when he tried to be witty or how warm and soft her skin was when she would throw her arms around him and give him a hug. She was always an affectionate one.

Jae forced the thoughts away, something he found harder and harder to do lately. He supposed he just missed her more as time passed. That had to be it.

“I bet Lyarra would have loved to see it as well,” he added as he gave Robb a teasing smile.

“She would.” Robb agreed before his eyes quickly darted towards Brandon as if merely speaking of his betrothed was somehow inappropriate.

Their uncle just laughed at that. “Perhaps you can take her after the wedding?”

This time it was Robb’s cheeks that went red, but fortunately no one said anything more on the subject, preferring to take in the immense, white-clad lands in front of them in silence.

As they stood there Jae felt a strong gust of cold wind hit his face. The wind seemed a lot stronger up on the Wall and it didn’t take long before the cold started to get to him. He made no sign of wanting to turn back though. Instead he pondered the dilemma that was before him.

He had met his great-uncle yesterday, but hadn’t had a chance to truly speak with him. This was now his main mission for the day, but he still wasn’t sure if Maester Aemon could be trusted to keep his secrets. _To keep my secrets even from father, if need be_. But perhaps most importantly was to keep them from the Citadel.

Aunt Barbrey had never really hid her distrust for the _gray rats_ , as she called them, he recalled. Uncle Brandon had always thought she was exaggerating, but she had always sharply retorted that he didn’t use his head and thought it through properly. For in the truth, the Maesters knew virtually every lord’s darkest secrets and no one knew if they were truly loyal or had their own agenda. Aunt Barbrey had especially expressed her dislike for the former Maester Walys, but Jae never quite understood why.

Walys had apparently died mysteriously many years ago. From what he heard, Winterfell’s Maester had been at bitter man in the end, deeply disappointed by Lord Rickard’s change of heart. Their arguments had become legend, where the Maester wanted progress; which really meant for the north to emulate the south, Lord Stark had come to view the south as a bad influence.

When they eventually had their fill of the wondrous view they quietly began to make their way back to the cage, nodding at a Brother whom they passed.

Jae’s own father was certainly convinced that at least some of the Maesters had an agenda of eradicating magic; of ending the Valyrian blood, which made them their enemies. In that the king was of the same mind as his own chosen Grand Maester, Marwyn, also known as the Mage.

After Pycelle’s duplicity had been revealed, his father had been in a position to make demands. The king had travelled to Oldtown and brought back an Archmaester of his own choosing, while the Maesters’ protests fell on deaf and unsympathetic ears. Why father hadn’t done more if he was convinced that the Maesters were working against his family, Jae did not know, but he figured there must be a plan of some sorts. He also wondered why Maester Aemon hadn’t been recalled from the Wall, but perhaps he hadn’t wanted to.

It seemed crazy not to trust in a Targaryen Maester, of his own blood, even though Aemon had renounced his family name when he joined the order of Maesters. But if Jae revealed sensitive information he wasn’t certain that it would not be passed on to the Citadel, perhaps unwittingly or even with the best of intentions. _Or to father._

As they reached the cage, Jae nodded at another Brother who manned the surely thankless job and began their slow ascent. He hadn’t yet told his father about the dragon egg and wasn’t sure if he wanted to. _Father expects too much from me as it is, without adding the prospect of bringing back the dragons to the list._ _Or perhaps it was already on it_ , he thought ruefully.

Every letter from his father contained references to prophecies. Jae now finally understood the _Ice and Fire_ references his father had made ever since Jae was a small boy. _Stark and Targaryen_. But what it truly meant was a whole other matter.

Father had always encouraged him to embrace his Stark heritage, but always remember that he was a Dragon first and foremost. This had been repeated endlessly in his letters since Jae arrived at Winterfell. The king always asked about Ghost; always wanted to know if Jae dreamt of being a wolf, or if any of the other Stark children did. While Robb and he had spoken in hushed whispers about such dreams, about the thrill of the hunt and the vivid memories that remained beyond waking, he did not wish to reveal something to anyone when he didn’t understand it himself.

It frightened him at times.

Once they reached the ground again the direwolves took off to the gods knew where. Jae supposed it was time for them to hunt again. _Or perhaps they just wanted to play_ , he thought as he watched them run away.

He took his leave from Robb and his uncle and started to head back to his chamber. He would need to speak to Maester Aemon first before he could decide on his trustworthiness.

***

 _“Corn, corn.”_ The old black raven sat perched on Lord Mormont’s shoulder despite being fairly large as far as ravens went. “ _Corn, corn, prince.”_ It said as Jae approached, causing the Old Bear to turn around from where he sat with Maester Aemon and spot Jae.

“My prince, once again I want to express what an honor it is to host you here. How can I be of service?”

“I’m grateful, my lord.” Jae replied as he approached the older men. Maester Aemon seemed to turn and stare at him with his unseeing eyes. Or perhaps he was merely listening. “In truth, I was looking for my great-uncle, but now I might as well ask if there is any news of Uncle Benjen?”

“None, I’m afraid. But fear not, your uncle is our most experienced ranger and with that huge beast _Moonlight_ by his side, I think he shall be fine.” The Lord Commander motioned to a chair at the table and Jae sat down gratefully.

At this point Maester Aemon suddenly cleared his throat, before he spoke softly. “Strange business this, that the Starks should find such close companionship with their direwolves. Even after all these years I still find it strange.”

Jae didn’t quite know what, but felt he needed to say something. “Aye.”

 _“Wolves!”_ the raven exclaimed suddenly from its place on Lord Mormont’s shoulder. _“Wolves!”_

“And we’ve heard of the recent litter; one pup for each Stark child.” The Maester continued in his frail voice.

 _And for me_ , Jae thought but refrained from speaking out loud.

“And then you, my young dragon.” Maester Aemon’s voice seemed to drift off, as if he had been consumed by the deepest thoughts.

“Aye, the gods are pleased with Lord Stark,” the old commander stated almost reverently, although that was no surprise given who he was. It was not for naught that the Mormonts were considered perhaps Winterfell’s staunchest bannermen, Jae thought. Well, together with the Manderlys.

 _“Corn, corn.”_ At that Lord Mormont searched his pockets for some corn, perhaps in a bid to keep the talkative bird quiet for a moment, but gave up. “I shall leave you now, my prince. I’d better see to feeding the bloody bird.” With a small bow to Jae and a nod to the Maester, the Lord Commander took his leave.

As often when his thoughts turned to Ghost, Jae experienced a fleeting moment where he could smell trees, animals and even the scent of humans and horses. He had the strangest sensation of feeling the frozen ground beneath his hands and feet; of playful running with his _father_ and _brother_.

“You can sense him, can you not? Your wolf,” Maester Aemon asked quietly. How he had known, Jae did not know. “The First Ranger has told me,” his great-uncle added as if in explanation. “He dreams of his direwolf. Dreams that _he is_ his direwolf. Dreams real enough that the taste of blood lingers in his mouth even after waking.”

Those were dangerous words. They came perilously close to touching upon the much-feared wargs.

After a moment’s hesitation he nodded. Then felt immediately foolish for doing so when his great-uncle was blind. “Aye,” he answered barely audibly.

“Fear not, my young wolf-dragon,” Maester Aemon smiled at him reassuringly. “Your Father’s union with the Starks was fortuitous. We are the blood of Valyria and we do not fear magic, nor do we oppose it even when we do not recognize its manifestation.”

Maester Aemon got up and took a few steps over to a bookshelf in the corner of the room. He bent down and started to run his fingers over several leather-bound volumes. “Ah, here it is,” he said as he pulled out a large book.

He brought it over and placed it on the table in front of Jae. Maester Aemon began to turn pages rapidly but then stopped and told Jae, “See if you can find the passage that recounts the meeting of Aegon the Conqueror and Torrhen Stark, the last king in the North. It should be there somewhere but I’m afraid I won’t be able to point to the exact page.”

Jae leaned forward and started to scan the pages. They spoke of the burning of Harrenhal, the Field of Fire and other events of the conquest that he had learned of. He finally got to the right passage, but wondered why. He knew the story well. Everyone did.

Then he saw that this was indeed different.

_King Aegon I Targaryen sent a message to King Stark who had gathered his forces across the Trident, saying, “The Gods have brought us here, yours as surely as mine. But let us not stand against one another; let us not shed needless blood when our war is yet to come, lest the Long Night falls upon us without a guardian in the north.”_

_Whereas reports are conflicting, it is generally assumed that this message caught King Stark’s interest enough that he did not agree to his bastard brother Brandon Snow’s bold plan to assassinate the dragons. Some rumors even say Brandon Snow swore he could bend the dragons to his will, or perhaps die in the attempt, and have them fight each other as well as the Targaryen army, but no explanation for how such would be accomplished was forthcoming._

_Perhaps it was an allusion to the purportedly unique magic of the First Men, which allows them to possess the minds of beasts in order to have them do their bidding, yet such phenomenon have not been well-documented and little is known about this so-called warging._

Jae exhaled quickly, not even having realized that he had held his breath. He turned to Maester Aemon, “What is this? Never saw or heard of it before.”

“Ah, my young dragon. I would be surprised if you had.” His great-uncle’s voice was calm and soothing. He gathered the book back to himself and opened the first page, which he showed Jae.

“The _Book of Lost Books_ , by Grand Maester Marwyn, young prince. Truly one of the Citadel’s most valuable possessions, yet for all their learning they do not know its worth. Instead they fear it and it was only due to your Father’s great influence I was able to receive a copy at all.”

“You mean our Marwyn, the Mage, and current Grand Maester?” Jae questioned. “He taught me for years, but never once spoke of this book.” Jae said feeling increasingly confused. “If this is so important, why hasn’t he?”

“My dear boy, even the Grand Maester cannot disregard the will of the Citadel completely.”

Yet when no further explanation was forthcoming, Jae decided to prod a bit more, “Why then do you show me this, great-uncle?”

At this Maester Aemon chuckled softly. “I fear that the Wall is too far away from the Citadel for its influence to so greatly affect my own decisions. I always knew that this was my true place; my destiny. For some the Wall as a prison, but for me it has always represented freedom.”

Jae thought he understood. “In other words, you can more or less do whatever you want for as long as you are here?”

Maester Aemon smiled and nodded. “This is what your Father wanted.” He paused for a moment before he continued, “And there’s more to the book. Grand Maester Marwyn discovered pages from a book of Targaryen lore, thought lost forever. _Signs and Portents_ , by Daenys the Dreamer. Your father was shown these pages when he was but a young man himself.”

“And what do they say?” Jae asked curiously, yet hesitantly. He once more felt that sense of foreboding.

 _“On that day the dragons shall lie down with the wolves. The Prince shall ride forth and bring the fire north. Yet ice shall be in his path; ice runneth through his veins. For his is a song of ice and fire.”_ Maester Aemon recited in High Valyrian with a surprisingly strong voice.

“That is but one passage. Much is cryptic, but such are the ways of prophecy,” the old man stated almost apologetically. “There is only one more passage we are confident that we understand; which seems to justify the Conquest, or at least justifies our presence on this continent.”

Jae listened as his great-uncle spoke of the Doom of old Valyria and the almost certain darkness to swallow the world if the dragons did not go west. He honestly did not quite know what to believe. It seemed a bit too fantastic a tale, but if there was one place where he could more readily believe it, it was here at the Wall.

The most disturbing part was how both Father and Maester Aemon seemed to place Jae himself at the center of these prophecies, as if his birth had been planned by the gods themselves, hundreds of years ago. The very thought almost made him want to ride off and board the first ship to Essos where he could just forget about it all.

It seemed that Maester Aemon finally noticed his silence, as he refrained from speaking further himself. They sat in silence for a while as Jae tried to process what had been said, but also to find a way to broach the subject he had come here for.

“You do so remind me of your Father, my boy.” The Maester finally said softly, once again smiling warmly. “At the same time you’re also very different. Of course, I know only of your mother the Queen through your Father and her brother Benjen, but I can see that you surely have a lot of her as well.”

Jae had to smile at his words, once again remembering his mother. This time it didn’t fill him with sadness, since he knew she was on her way north even now, with his younger sisters in tow.

“Actually, my uncle Ned is the one I’m most often compared to.” He chuckled. “My mother has the wolf blood, just like Uncle Brandon. Or so Lord Stark always tells me. But I do not.”

Maester Aemon smiled back at that. In the short time Jae had known him he seemed at his happiest when discussing family.

“While I greatly appreciate this visit, dear great nephew, I am also most curious as to your reason for coming.”

Jae paused for a long moment before he took a deep breath. He placed his deer skin belt pouch on the table and opened it in front of them. He then reached out and gently took his great-uncle’s hand. Maester Aemon willingly let him, curiosity etched on his face.

Just before his great-uncle touched the dragon egg, Jae stopped him and asked, “Can I trust you, Maester Aemon? Will what I reveal to you remain between the two of us?”

“I swear it,” came the reply without a hint of hesitation.

Jae slowly nodded to himself, accepting his great-uncle’s word, and let Maester Aemon’s fingers close on the egg. “Can you feel its pulse?” He whispered.

Maester Aemon seemed to struggle to find his words. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, several times. “I… I can,” he finally managed to say. “Wh… Where… H-How…?”

Jae took another breath. “Lord Stark… he gave it to me before we departed Winterfell. They found it in the Crypts some time after the Dance of Dragons. It must have been laid by Vermax.” Jae whispered, although he doubted anyone was around to hear. “Father doesn’t know,” he added.

“It’s a marvel!” Maester Aemon spoke reverently as he held the egg in both hands. “I can feel it’s alive! Never have I held an egg so full of life.” A single tear appeared and rolled gently down the old man’s cheek. _A happy tear_ , Jae thought.

“Aye, it’s much stronger now. When I first held it I could barely sense anything. Now there’s… almost like a heartbeat.” Jae had kept it close, shared his body’s heat with the egg, and placed it in fire when no one was there to see. He had even shed his own blood and let it trickle down the scaly shell as if it to feed it of his own life force. At times he thought he was going crazy when he could sense _it_ stirring somehow. But there was no mistaking it now. The egg was alive.

“The crypts must have kept it fresh,” Maester Aemon whispered as if trying to solve a mystery. “The cold must have protected it, but also prevented it from hatching. Now it has been awakened. Never have I felt such life in a dragon egg. It used to drive us crazy. We could feel their warmth, but nothing we did would awaken them.

Why, why would they not wake? Fire, blood, nothing worked. Egg tried… gathered all seven remaining eggs, including mine… but the wildfire… eggs destroyed, my family almost gone… Oh, Egg…”

His voice trailed off as he traced his frail hands over the egg, looking like he was trying to feel and memorize every tiny scale in the hard shell. They sat like that, in silence, each of them in deep contemplation.

“What color is it?” Maester Aemon finally asked.

“Red.” Jae answered. “Red and a bit of yellow. Like fire.”

“My boy, you have lifted this old man’s heart. I can only hope that I will live to see it hatch.” Maester Aemon looked thoughtful for a moment. “You were meant to have this dragon egg, I have no doubt. You were meant to bring back the dragons.” Once again he recited the ominous words by Dany the Dreamer in High Valyrian, _“…the Prince shall ride forth and bring the fire north…”_

Jae felt his mouth go dry, heart beating fast as the old Maester continued, gripped by enthusiasm.

“The magic is stronger this far north. Yes, the magic is the missing ingredient. But it’s stronger here. Strong enough that Direwolves have journeyed south and joined the blood of the Winter Kings. But stronger yet beyond the Wall. Yes, you must travel north and expose the egg to the magic beyond the Wall.”

Jae felt his palms were sweaty, his mouth dry like Dornish sand. He knew somehow that the Maester was right, as crazy as it seemed. He could feel it. Yet he worried so, worried that he had gone mad. That he felt and experienced things that simply were not real. That his Father had succumbed to his family’s madness for believing in the prophecies, that his great-uncle Aemon was equally mad and remained on the Wall for reasons that only existed in his own head.

“I…” he began but found himself at a loss for words.

“Dear child,” Maester Aemon spoke again much more calmly, voice full of warmth. “I do not say this lightly, and neither do would I presume to remove the choice from your hands. The choice is yours. But I believe that your destiny is found beyond these Walls. Whether it is now or later …”

What it was that Maester Aemon had meant to say next Jae never learned, as suddenly there was a loud blast of a horn. When no second blast followed, Jae knew what it meant. _The sound of a ranger returning. Uncle Benjen._

* * *

  **Jaime**

  _I hate the north_ , Jaime thought mournfully as he stuck his gloved hands in his armpits in the hope of regaining some warmth in his frozen fingers. _And this they call summer_.

He stood in the courtyard as he watched what amounted to yet another Stark reunion. Benjen Stark was the very image of his brothers and the Queen Lyanna. The same dark brown hair and beard, the same long face. A large black wolf pelt hung from his shoulders and as a man of the Night’s Watch he wore all black leather, just like the Prince.

Prince Jaehaerys shared the Stark look too, but with his Valyrian features the Starks looked like rough-hewn replicas of a masterfully carved statue.

They all did. Even he, he reluctantly admitted to himself. He had always prided himself on his good looks, but next to the Targaryens he felt as if he was a common peasant, no different from other smallfolk.

Even Cersei had been smitten by Rhaegar, he recalled sourly, as much good as it had done the current Lady Lefford. She denied it, said it was political; that she only had the good of the family in mind. By marrying the Crown Prince, Cersei and he would be able to be together. But he had nevertheless noticed how her cheeks flushed in Rhaegar’s presence, and how her breath seemed to quicken when he was near.

She had called him stupid for pointing it out, said he was simply jealous and that he, Jaime, was all she ever wanted. Until that one time when she had slipped and moaned Rhaegar’s name when Jaime pleasured her.

That was the last time they had lain together. An unbridgeable chasm had opened up between them. Even after all these years, Jaime still felt betrayed.

Jaime observed as Benjen embraced Prince Jaehaerys and ruffled his hair affectionately. When the Prince protested that he was a bit old for that, Benjen only laughed.

“Never got to do it when you were a kid, but don’t worry, I won’t do it again.”

The older Direwolves seemed to have a reunion of their own. Moonlight, Benjen’s wolf, was as large as Shadow, but where the latter was all black, the former was all charcoal. The wolves tumbled around and play-bit each other, their joy at being reunited apparent to all.

Soon Grey Wind joined them in their rough and tumble, but Ghost just sat on his hind legs, silent as ever, content with merely watching the others play. _What a strange wolf he is_ , Jaime thought. Then wondered when and how he had become so knowledgeable of wolves that he even had an opinion.

“My mother and younger sisters are on their way to Winterfell, uncle.” Jaime heard Jae say.

“Truly?” Benjen exclaimed excitedly. Of all her brothers, the Queen had always seemed the closest to Benjen. He didn’t doubt that theirs would be a most heartfelt reunion. Jaime recalled that she had even tried to convince him to join the Kingsguard instead of the Night’s Watch, but Benjen had insisted that his place was on the Wall, that the Starks needed to lead by example.

“Truly, Uncle.” Jae smiled back, seemingly taken aback by his uncle’s exuberance.

Jaime thought that he could never fully understand the Starks or their sense of honor. His own Lord Father would have fainted if a Lannister voluntarily joined the Night’s Watch, much less a son of the main branch. _Although he probably wouldn’t object too hard if Tyrion decided to join_.

But the Starks had apparently sent sons to serve for generations. Likewise, the Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was another example of the northern sense of honor. _Who would voluntarily end his days in this miserable place?_

As if to emphasize his words, he stamped his feet on the frozen ground in an attempt to get his blood circulating again. This had the unforeseen effect however of reminding the others of his presence.

“Uncle, this is Ser Jaime Lannister, of the Kingsguard.” Jae introduced him.

Benjen seemed to look him up and down critically, before he chuckled. “I think this Southron knight wishes to return inside to the hearths of Castle Black.”

Before Jaime could come up with a retort, as he wasn’t quite sure if he had been insulted or not, Benjen spoke again as he held out his hand, “Well met, Ser. I hope you are willing to regale me with stories of my royal nephew, the more embarrassing the better!”

Jaime accepted Benjen’s hand. “I could never be so bold as to mention the time when the Prince barged in on Princess Daenerys in the bath, or how much more quickly he ran out again, as if a pack of hellhounds were hot on his heels. It would be most unseemly of a knight sworn to his service to do so.”

Well, he wasn’t really supposed to tell that story, but it had slipped out anyway. Everyone seemed to find it very amusing, even Ghost had his tongue out and jaws open in what resembled a grin, but he heard Prince Jaehaerys mutter under his breath, “I’ll get you for that, you mangy lion.”

But Jaime wasn’t overly worried so he smiled at his squire cheekily. “I have sworn to keep my King’s secrets. But with the Seven’s blessings I shall be able to tell yours for many years to come.”

“Not only a Lannister pays his debts, Ser.” Prince Jaehaerys announced almost absently. “Fire and blood, Ser Jaime. Remember that. Fire and blood.”

But Jaime could tell the Prince’s heart wasn’t really in it as he put no real effort into his comebacks. He idly wondered what weighed so heavily on his charge’s mind that he couldn’t even muster the effort for a half-decent insult.

He looked around and saw that even Lord Brandon and Robb were a bit confused by the Prince’s lack of a proper response, as it was very much unlike him.

_Whatever this latest brooding is about, it must be serious if the Prince can’t snap out of it even when he meets his uncle for the first time._

And that thought was worrisome. If a problem held a sword, or any other type of weapon, then Jaime could help by slaying it. For all other things, he felt quite useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but I won't bore you with my excuses.  
> I hope and think that the next chapter will come sooner.  
> In the meanwhile we can all "enjoy" the train-wreck that is Season 8 of GoT.
> 
> Once again, thank you to all who reviewed.


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